Stigmatized
by Spooky-Girl
Summary: It's been done, but I'm jumping on the bandwagon. Spike's back after the season finale, how will they all deal, blah blah blah. Now a crossover! Aahhh! I suck at summaries. Just read it, eh? (rated for some bad language, etc)
1. 1

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except the plot. I think I own that anyway. Ah well. Enjoy, review, let me know if you want more. Otherwise I'll file this away with my other incomplete works. :D  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Voices.  
  
Happy voices.  
  
The voices that emanated from the brightly lit house were driving him insane, but no matter how much he wanted to leave, no matter how hard he tried to turn away, his gaze was locked, his ears tuned to the voices.  
  
"Eww! No way are we putting peanut butter in oatmeal cookies!"  
  
"Come on, Buffy, it'll be good!"  
  
"No! That's almost as disgusting as those brownies we tried last night."  
  
"Hey, the mint was a good touch. Admit it."  
  
"It was revolting."  
  
"Yeah…it was wasn't it?"  
  
Laughter.  
  
They were happy.   
  
He had to leave. He couldn't listen to this. He had to go somewhere else, do something to occupy his mind.   
  
Not this. Anything but this torture.  
  
  
  
  
Clem was more than happy to give up his position as crypt watcher, glad to have his poker buddy back. Besides, he said, he was about to go out for some chicken anyway.  
  
Spike watched him go before shutting the heavy door to his crypt. He looked around his dank, sorry excuse for his home.   
  
Clem had left a little clutter; it made the place look lived in, almost comfortable. It was the almost exactly same as he'd left it. The TV, the chair, the refrigerator…it was all so familiar.  
  
With a roar, Spike lifted the easy chair and threw it into the wall, splintering one of the wooden legs. With tears of fury and countless other emotions streaming down his gaunt face he shoved his fist through the screen of the TV, not even noticing when shreds of glass embedded themselves into his skin.   
  
Emotion was a bitch.  
  
He tipped the fridge, the door opening with a clang, spilling blood and juice across the cement floor. He attacked his belongings with such fervor that it took only minutes for the entire top level to be trashed beyond hope.   
  
"Fuck this."  
  
  
  
  
The door slowly creaked open, spilling pale moonlight across the floor.   
  
"Hey, Clem?" Dawn called out. "Buffy wanted to know if you knew anything about--"   
  
She stopped suddenly, looking down as glass crunched under her sneaker. Eyes wide she surveyed the damage. It looked as if a tornado had it Spike's old place.  
  
"Clem?" she called out, staring at the broken TV. Man would Spike be pissed when - or if - he came back.   
  
She growled as she once again found her thoughts straying to Spike. She was mad herself. Mad at him for leaving, for doing what he did to Buffy.   
  
"Clem!" she yelled. "You here?"  
  
A low guttural growl from the dark corner told her that Clem wasn't there. Or if he was, he wasn't in any shape to answer her.  
  
"H-hello?" she called tentatively.   
  
Louder this time, but still a growl.  
  
She ran to one of few windows and yanked aside the heavy browned cloth that covered it, letting moonlight spill into the corner.   
  
"Spike?" she said in astonishment, eyes widening even more.  
  
"Get out," he said savagely.  
  
He was shirtless and barefoot, seated in the corner with his body taught, ready to be on his feet in a second.  
  
More shocking than the sight of him after so many months, more than his now longish brown hair, the pale, bony body, was the look on his face. She had never seen that look before, and couldn't quite place it. She didn't like it, that much she knew.  
  
"Spike?" she managed in barely a whisper.   
  
"Get OUT!" he roared, startling her.  
  
"N-no," she stuttered. "What's wrong with you?"  
  
He sprung to his feet and had her against the wall in a matter of seconds, his hand over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air, the other pinning her with crushing strength.  
  
"Get out, Bit, and don't come back!" he told her in an icy voice. "If you come 'round here again I will kill you."  
  
He let her go then, and she slumped to the floor, coughing, tears streaming down her face.  
  
"Spike?" she cried softly, desperately.  
  
"GO!"  
  
She ran.  
  
She ran like the devil himself were on her heels, to her house, slamming the door behind her with sobs wracking her thin body.  
  
Buffy, in the kitchen with a hot pan of cookies immediately dropped what she was doing, literally, and ran to the front hall. "Dawn?"  
  
She knelt next to her sister, putting her arm around her. "Dawn, what?"  
  
Dawn looked up with wet eyes. "Spike."  
  
Buffy's face hardened. "He's back?"  
  
"He...he told me he was going to kill me if I showed up there again!" she wailed.  
  
Buffy clenched her jaw. She stood and disappeared up the stairs, leaving a crying Dawn.  
  
When she came back a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a shirt rather than her PJ bottoms Dawn stood up, wiping her eyes on her jacket sleeve. "Buffy? What are you going to do?"  
  
"Something I should have done a long time ago," Buffy said.   
  
As she walked away, Dawn noticed the unmistakable bulge of a stake beneath her jacket.  
  
"Buffy, no!"  
  
But by the time she managed the words, Buffy was gone. 


	2. 2

A/N: To GalaxyGirl, when I said Dawn growled I didn't mean like an angry dog, or vampire for that matter, might growl. I meant it as she groaned in frustration. :P Guess I should've used my thesaurus. Read and review if you want me to keep going, peoples. :D  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Wallowing in self pity wasn't something Spike was used to, but at that point it seemed like a good idea.   
  
'What the hell was I thinking?' he asked himself, shaking his head. 'I'd show up and say "hey honey, got a soul" and everything would be perfect? I never should have come back here. I've hurt them enough.'  
  
He was curled up in the corner again, head hanging limply against his chest, fresh tears in his eyes.  
  
'Look at me,' he berated. 'I'm worse than Peaches. I'm worse than I was with that sodding chip!'  
  
He didn't even bother to lift his head as the door banged open under Buffy's powerful kick. 'Big sis to the rescue.'  
  
"Spike," she seethed. "Get up."  
  
He looked up then, at the face of the woman he hated more than anything he's ever known, the woman he loved more than his entire pathetic existence, and his heart ached at the sight.  
  
She was there in all her glory, angry and ready to fight, Buffy at her best.  
  
He hauled himself up, using the stone wall for support, facing her. "Let's get his over with, then."  
  
Anger put aside for the moment, Buffy looked at his sorry state curiously, wondering what had happened to him, where he'd been. She squared her jaw, pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. "Care to explain or should I just get right to the killing of you?"  
  
He stared at her for a moment, wanting to take in her beauty one last time. "Get on with the slaying, Slayer. It's what you're best at."  
  
She lunged at him with her fist, slamming it into his jaw.   
  
He stood there without making any move to block it, the force enough to knock his weak body against the wall. He pushed himself upright again, bleeding from the corner of his mouth. With blank eyes he stared at her.  
  
Feeling creeped out, she hit him again, sending him to the ground on his knees.   
  
Why wasn't he fighting back?  
  
"If this is your idea of a turn on, Spike, I'm making this slow and painful!" she said angrily.  
  
He looked up again, staring with those haunting eyes.  
  
"Fight, dammit!" she told him, hauling him up by the arm.   
  
He pulled his arm away, turning his back on her. "If you're going to do it, do it, Slayer."  
  
Confused, she brought the stake up, then let her arm drop to her side. "What?"  
  
He spun around. "Do it already!"  
  
"No," she said, furrowing her brow. "Not until you tell me why you want me to."  
  
"Just do it, already," he pleaded. "Please!"  
  
She was genuinely stumped. "If this is a game--"  
  
Lighting fast he grabbed her arm and put the stake to his heart, pressing it into the tender flesh. "There, half done. All you have to do is finish it."  
  
Her eyes practically bugged out of her head. She tried to pull away but his grip tightened.   
  
"Finish it," he whispered, begging.   
  
She kicked out, her leg connecting with his shin. It was enough to make him stumble backward, release her.  
  
He sunk to the floor. "Get away, Slayer."  
  
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Spike," she told him. "You don't have that right."  
  
He looked mournfully at her. "Just go. I'm asking. Will you please just go?"  
  
"No! You threaten to kill my sister and I'm supposed to just leave?" she said incredulously.   
  
"You won't kill me, you won't leave, what are you here for?" he demanded softly.   
  
"Well I WAS here to kill you," she said. "Before you wigged out and actually wanted me to. That takes all the fun out of it."  
  
He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head in them.  
  
Officially weirded out, and now a bit concerned (not to mention mad at herself for feeling the latter) Buffy put the stake in her belt. "Spike…?"  
  
"Make me what I was," he scoffed. "Bloody idiot, I am."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she said in frustration.  
  
At that moment Dawn came running through the door, skidding into her sister, knocking her down. "No!"  
  
Buffy untangled herself from her sisters limbs and got to her knees. "Dawn, geez."  
  
"Geez?" Dawn cried. "You were gonna kill him, I had to stop you!"  
  
"Why?" Spike spoke up softly.  
  
"Why what?" both Dawn and Buffy asked.   
  
"Why did you have to stop her? Why did you have to come here?" his voice got louder with every question. "If you won't kill me, why won't you get the hell out of here!?"  
  
He clenced his hands into fists.  
  
Dawn got to her feet. "Spike, what's wrong?"  
  
"How can you still care?" he asked her desperately.   
  
"What?" she asked in reply, frowning.   
  
"After everything I've done," he said. "You still care…"  
  
"Okay," Buffy said. "this is really freaking me out. Who are you and what have you done with Spike?"  
  
"Spike's dead," he chortled ruefully. "Long live William the Bloody Poofter. Better yet, long die. Only that doesn't exactly make sense, does it?"  
  
Dawn eyed Buffy. "Did he hit his head or is he just wasted?"  
  
"I'd say the last one is more likely," Buffy answered.  
  
"Right," Dawn said. She grabbed Spike's arm, hauling him to his feet as Buffy had done before. "Come on, let's get you some coffee."  
  
He pulled his arm away, stepping back with a dry laugh. "Something's wrong with Spike, he must be drunk. That's all I am, a useless drunken bloody monster."  
  
"I've never seen him get all mopey and depressed when he's drunk," Buffy said. "but I guess there's a time for everything."  
  
"I'm not drunk," he told them defensively.   
  
"God," Dawn remarked. "He's having mad mood swings. Guess guy PMS really does exist. Wait…would that work for a vampire?"  
  
"Argh!" Spike yelled, stalking past the two of them. He held open the door of the crypt. "Get out already! I can't be around you!"  
  
"Why?" Dawn asked, ever the curious girl.   
  
"I might hurt you," he mumbled to the ground. "I've done it enough times already."  
  
"Whoa," Buffy commented. "You must be drunk, Spike."  
  
"Yeah, that's it, Slayer," he said. "I'm totally sloshed. Now get away. I might say something I'll regret."  
  
"When you're sober," she said as she and Dawn left. "I'm coming back. And I am SO gonna kick your ass."  
  
"Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll kill me," Spike muttered as they left.  
  
He watched them walk away.   
  
"Or maybe I'll do it myself."  
  
He damned those voices.  
  
The ones that made him feel such love and remorse. Such hatred and such pain.   
  
He felt as if Buffy's stake had gone straight through the heart, and not only an inch or less.   
  
He wished it had. 


	3. 3

A/N: Still enjoying? Enjoyed at all? Let me know! I need fuel to keep me going. :D Or I'm just an attention hog…either way.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He sighed.   
  
If life was hard, ending it should be easy, right? No dice. Not even an un-life was easy to end. Too many loose ends to tie up, too many things to say. Apologies to give. Wondering if they would be accepted in time.   
  
'…Dear Buffy,  
  
I've said it before, and I'm sure you're quite tired of it by now, but I do love you. I love you with all my heart and soul. (That's right, soul. It's amazing what you can sneak past customs these days, eh?) I've tried not loving you. I've tried hating you, killing you, running away from you, but nothing does me any good. I can't get away from it. If you still don't believe me, all I ask is that you keep it in mind. Maybe someday you'll come to realize what I have. No matter how hard I try, how far I run, I can't escape you. I've been drowning in you for years, Slayer, and now I've stopped wishing I would wake up one day to find out it was just because of this bloody chip. I've stopped wanting it to go away. I only hope one day you can see that it was true.  
  
I can see why you could never love me, Buffy. I'm a monster. I'm a minion of destruction, and even when I was neutered I was still hurting everyone around me as much as I could. I searched high and low for ways to make people miserable. I killed, and I raped and I pillaged, and I never once felt sorry. Never once thought maybe it was wrong, maybe I was making too many people suffer. I like to think it was only the demon in me, but a part of me knows that the man I once was liked it too. Liked feeling powerful, liked crushing those who hurt him, who got in his way. It was a power trip as much as it was a way of life.   
  
Which is why I can't be here anymore. I can't be around you and Dawn and the others. I can't stand the looks in their eyes. Knowing how much I've done, how many I've hurt and killed…it's too much. I can't stand around and know even with this soul I might hurt someone. I'd never forgive myself. I can't forgive myself as it is. I know no one else can either, but it's important that you tell them that I am sorry. As much as I can feel, I feel twice as sorry for all the pain I've caused.   
  
Tell Dawn I'm sorry. I promised to protect her till the end of the world, and I won't be around to do that. Another promise broken. Let her know she means the world to me, and that I'm sorry for leaving, for everything I've done to her. I will miss her more than anything.   
  
I love both of you Summers' more than the world. And I'm sorry for making so much of it hell. I only hope that with me gone, things will be better. Make them better, Buffy. For everyone.  
  
Spike….'  
  
He sighed and put his pen down, flexing his cramped fingers.   
  
"Enough of the sodding goodbyes," he told himself, standing.   
  
He pulled on a black button down, leaving it open, too focused on pacing to do up the buttons. All he needed now was the guts to do what he needed to do.  
  
  
  
  
Dawn sighed heavily, staring at the TV with a scowl.  
  
"Enough!" Buffy said, throwing her arms up. "What's wrong?"  
  
"We should have stayed," Dawn told her crossly. "Something's not right with him."  
  
"That's for sure," Buffy muttered.  
  
Dawn shot a glare at her sister. "You know what I mean, Buffy! Something's wrong."  
  
"Less than five hours ago he threatened to kill you and now you're wanting to go over there and play Oprah?" Buffy said back.  
  
"Yes!" Dawn answered. "I want to help him!"  
  
"Why?"   
  
"Why? What do you mean "why"?  
  
"I mean," Buffy drew out. "why do you want to help him?"  
  
"Because…" Dawn said unsurely. "I know he's not the model citizen, but he's still pretty okay as vampires go. I'm positive he didn't mean to do what he…almost did to you. Besides, that was MONTHS ago!"  
  
Buffy sighed. "Dawn, if I tell you something, will you promise to keep your mouth shut about it?"  
  
She nodded eagerly.  
  
"I know he didn't mean to do what he did," she said. "I don't why it happened, but I know he didn't want to do what he was going to. I don't know how I know. Maybe I just like to think he wouldn't hurt me like that. Like, maybe he cares about me in his own twisted way."  
  
"HE does care about you, Buffy!" Dawn said. "He does care about you. He's more than just a cheap thrill to you, and you're more than that to him!"  
  
Buffy's eyes widened. "Dawn, geez."  
  
"Sorry," she said. "but you know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah…" Buffy trailed off softly. "Do you think…is it possible for someone like him to actually love?"  
  
Dawn nodded. "Angel did. And don't give me that bull about his soul. It's really no different. Spike…he's not like other vamps."  
  
"You got that right," Buffy said sardonically.  
  
"Hey, none of that," Dawn said giving her a shove. "You know what I mean."  
  
Her sister nodded.  
  
"Maybe we should go…" Buffy said hesitantly. "Or maybe we should stay home and watch the rest of this infomercial."  
  
Dawn jumped to her feet and pulled Buffy up. "Let's go before you buy one of those ThighMaster thingies."  
  
  
  
  
Spike sealed up the envelope and put it on top of his duster. He hoped she's see it there. If not, oh well. It wasn't like his death wouldn't be meaningless anyway.  
  
He took a deep breath and stepped out into the night air.   
  
He had one last thing to see to.  
  
  
  
  
Father Byron Jakobs looked up from his legal pad as the door to the church swung open. "Who on earth at this time of night…?"  
  
Spike winced as he stepped inside the old building. Thankfully none of the crosses were close enough to have much effect, but it still made him more than a bit uncomfortable. He felt weak and prone. Not to mention stupid.  
  
"Hello," Father Jakobs said softly. "It is rather late, but may I be of any help?"  
  
"Uh…yeah…maybe," Spike said, looking at the crucifixes and statues above him. "I uh…"  
  
"No need to be wary," Father said. "I won't bite."  
  
"I might," Spike said under his breath.  
  
"Would you care to sit?" he asked, motioning to one of the pews.  
  
Spike nodded, sitting across from him, far enough away from that damn cross around his neck. "Father…do you believe in atonement?"  
  
"Of course," he replied. "There is nothing so bad that God won't forgive."  
  
"I think there sort of is," Spike said. "I'm afraid there is."  
  
"How long has it been since you last confessed?" Father asked.   
  
Spike chortled. "Not sure you'd believe me. I'm not looking to confess or nothing…I just…." He took a deep breath. "I'm a demon."  
  
"Now, don't be so hard on yourself, son," the father said softly. "Whatever it is, I'm sure--"  
  
"No," Spike said. "I mean I'm a demon. Vampire."  
  
The father looked at him with a less than amused look, disbelief evident.   
  
Spike's hand shot out, grabbing the cross and slipping into his game face.  
  
Jakobs pulled back in fear, unable to get away.  
  
Spike's hand smoked as the cross burned into his unholy flesh. He stared defiantly from yellow eyes. He let go after a minute, wincing again, and let his human features return.  
  
"I'm a demon. A demon with a bleeding soul!" he roared. "I'm feeling all this regret, all this pain that I've never had to deal with once in my life! I can't do this. I've come to terms with that. I'm just…do you think anyone will ever know I'm sorry? The people I've killed? They're dead, so how are they going to know? I need them to know, Father."  
  
Father Jakobs shook his head sadly at the lost soul. "If you are truly sorry, God will make sure they know."  
  
Spike's look softened at that. In his heart he prayed that it was true.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered. "I just needed to make sure."  
  
As he got up, Father caught his hand.   
  
"Son, there's always hope if you're truly a soul worth saving. God will know."  
  
"That's just it," Spike said despondently as he began to walk away from the house of worship. "I'm not a soul worth saving. Couldn't be if I tried."  
  
  
  
  
"Where is he?" Dawn cried frantically. "Where is he!?"  
  
Buffy put her hand over her mouth as she finished reading the letter Dawn had found. "Oh, God. A soul?"  
  
"Spike!" Dawn cried in anguish.  
  
"Oh, God," Buffy repeated. She moved her mouth, unable to form words. There were no words for this.  
  
It wasn't too late, was it? It couldn't be..  
  
"He's gone?" Dawn asked softly, mournfully.   
  
"Gone?" Buffy repeated. 'Or dead?'  
  
"I don't know," she said. "I don't know."  
  
"We have to find him, Buffy! Please! I know you're pissed, but we have to!" Dawn practically screamed.  
  
"Let's go," Buffy said, pulling her by the hand.  
  
They had to find him before it was too late. There was plenty of time to sort things out later. All that mattered just then was making sure he wasn't going to do something stupid.  
  
Something permanent. 


	4. 4

A/N: Is this the end? Very possibly. But maybe not. It decides on my mood and how many reviews and how much root beer I've had. It is only 2 am! :P R&R, lemme know if you want more or if it's enigmatic with this ending…and if it sucked, too bad, I liked it. Hehehe.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Time.  
  
Spike had never given it much thought. In all his hundred and some years the only time he could really remember time passing this painfully slow was the time when Buffy's body had lain underneath the neatly trimmed cemetery grass.   
  
He cursed himself and kicked fiercely at a stone that dared stray in his path. The thought of Buffy dead and buried depressed him, angered him, and made him think more. It wasn't what he needed at the time.  
  
For every reason he found to stay alive, there were three telling him he was better off dead. And once he'd finally figured out that that nagging voice in the back of his brain was right there were still more loose ends that told him he'd never forgive himself for not tying up.   
  
Inner turmoil was definitely not his friend.  
  
In the interim that same voice had been whispering how great it would be for him to just go get properly drunk and forget all this cling and clatter. Just…forget. As good as that sounded, as tempted as he was, he held off. That was something the old him would do. He couldn't be trusted then. He'd been sloshed when he went to see Buffy that night he…  
  
"Bugger!" he yelled, kicking at a nearby trash can. It flew off the metal pole it was hinged to, spilling rubbish across the sidewalk. "Great," he said angrily. "Now I'm killing Mother Earth!"  
  
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off.   
  
Anger boiled up in his veins, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. The passing car, the wall, everything begged his fist to greet it.   
  
He let out a roar at the top of his lungs, seeing spots form in front of his eyes from the force.   
  
He heard a yelp and fell into silence, looking around curiously.   
  
A thin looking stray dog cowered to his left. A meager meal, but it would take the edge off. When was the last time he'd fed? A week, two?   
  
"C'mere, Pup," he said softly, kneeling down with outstretched fingers.   
  
Tentatively the dog came closer, sniffing at his fingers. And ever so softly, his tail swished.  
  
Spike smiled sadly, petting the clumped, dirty hair of the mutt. "Sad sight, ain't ya, boy?"  
  
The dog whimpered softly, wagging his tail harder.  
  
All he had to do was get a good grip around the dog and sink his fangs into the tender flesh. Simple. Dinner.  
  
Spike stood up, giving its head one last pat.   
  
The dog whined and followed two steps behind and off to the side as he walked off.   
  
"Ain't got no food," Spike told him, eyeing the dog from the corner of his eye.   
  
Grumbling, he stopped at the nearest convenience store. "Stay here."  
  
He went in and looked about the shelves until he found a nice sized can of dog food. He dug in his pockets for some cash, found none, and sighed. If he'd had his duster he could've nicked it no sweat.   
  
Damn.  
  
He approached the counter almost shyly.   
  
The young teenager there greeted him with a smile.  
  
"Look," he started. "I've got no cash, but that dog out there's practically wasted away to nothing, and he won't stop following me, and he looks really pathetic."   
  
'Kind of like you,' his inner-self chastised.  
  
The girl smiled. "Don't worry. I'll cover it."  
  
"I'll pay you back," Spike said. When the girl went to refuse he held up a hand. "What's your name?"  
  
"Sandy," she replied.   
  
"I'll bring back the money," he promised her.  
  
She nodded. "Pet him for me."  
  
Spike allowed a small smile himself. "Sure."  
  
He headed back out to where the dog was waiting. It's tail swished at the sight of him.  
  
"Here," he said ripping off the top and shoving the can at the dog. "Eat up."  
  
As the mutt began to chow down Spike made his escape.  
  
He headed back toward his crypt, shaking his head. 'Paying a bloody clerk back. Reason number three to not dust myself. Bloody hell.'  
  
  
  
  
  
Dawn sat alone in the crypt, waiting for Buffy to finish scouring the cemetery for Spike. She wiped her moist eyes with the sleeve of her jean jacket, only to begin sobbing again. She was mad at him and she feared him and what he was planning to do. Most of all she missed him.  
  
"What's the matter, pet?" a familiar voice asked.  
  
"Spike?" she asked, jumping up and spinning around.  
  
He stood at the door, looking weary and resigned.  
  
"Expecting someone else?" he asked in a half-hearted attempt at humor.  
  
She flung herself at him, hugging him hard and long. "You scared the shit out of me!"  
  
"Watch the tongue," he admonished when he pulled away.  
  
"Yeah, whatever," she said hurriedly. "I thought you were going to do something crazy."  
  
"I am," he replied, bent over a stack of clothing.  
  
"What?" Dawn asked softly.  
  
"Because I came home you think I'm not going to do what I planned to do?" he asked her, slipping out of his button down.  
  
She stared at the scarring in the middle of his chest.   
  
He looked down. Those trials had taken a toll on him.  
  
He quickly pulled on a black t-shirt. "Problem?"  
  
"Yeah!" she cried. "My problem is: one of my best friends is going to turn himself to a pile of dust!"  
  
He spun angrily. "Don't call me that, Bit. I'm not a best friend. I'm a fucking demon!"  
  
"With a soul," she said, lip trembling.  
  
"Doesn't make a difference," he said. "I'm a monster. Grr and all that."  
  
"Spike," she pleaded. "Please, can't we talk about this?"  
  
He laughed. "Watching too many movies. There is no talking. Only doing. There's a beginning, a middle and an end. You're at your beginning, pet, and I'm at my end. I've been alive long enough. Hurt too many people, done too many wrong things. I'm what makes this world so bloody dark."  
  
She felt new tears begin to flow. "No.."  
  
"Yes," he told her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Dawn…you can't begin to imagine what I'm going through. None of you can. I'm not asking you to. But I can't go on living with this."  
  
"We can make things better," Buffy' s voice said from behind them.  
  
"People are making a living of doing that," Dawn muttered, meaning the sneaking in through the door. "Buffy's right, we can make things better!"  
  
"Nothing in the world could make this better," Spike said facing the sisters. "Except me not being here. I stop hurting, everyone else stops hurting."  
  
"Try we hurt even more!" Dawn cried.  
  
Buffy put a hand on her shoulder. "Spike…"  
  
He silenced her with an icy look. "We can make it better, eh? Tell me, Slayer. Could you ever love me? Love me like I love you?"  
  
Buffy bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "I…I don't know."  
  
"No," he said. "None of that. You know as well as I do."  
  
She could barely form the words as she spoke. "No. I couldn't love you like you love me. I could try, but I wouldn't be able to do it."  
  
"Because every time you look at me, look in my eyes," he said. "You'll see a monster. Because that's all I have ever been to you. It's all I ever will be."  
  
"B-but, Angel was--" Dawn started.  
  
"Angel was all soulful when she met him," Spike said, voice thick with emotion. "She knew him as that man. And when he became Angelus, it was easier to forgive, because that wasn't who he was. It wasn't…who he was…"  
  
Buffy sobbed out loud.  
  
"Maybe you're right, Buffy. Maybe I can't know love," Spike whispered. "Maybe I am that monster you see in your nightmares."  
  
He turned away. "It's got to be this way."  
  
"No," Dawn whimpered, clinging to Buffy.  
  
"I won't let you do it," Buffy said. "Never."  
  
"Doesn't work that way, love," he said. "It's not something you can stop me from doing. Just be content with knowing you tried, eh?"  
  
He looked toward the door then. "Almost light. Time for me to go."  
  
"NO!" Dawn shouted.   
  
"Lil' Bit," he said, putting a hand to her cheek. "I…"  
  
He trailed off, unable to say what he felt. He'd never been too good at that kinda thing.   
  
"Dawn."  
  
He gave them both a weathered smile. "I'm sorry."  
  
And he left.   
  
He walked away, leaving them sobbing, holding each other up.  
  
The sun rose. People awoke and began another day in their blissfully ignorant lives. Some people cried, and others died, inside as well as physically.   
  
There were people in need of help, friends who needed consoled. School to attend and work to labor. Bills needed paid, demons needed slayed.  
  
And none of it mattered.  
  
None of it could matter. 


	5. 5

A/N: Crossover tiiime! Turn out writers block isn't a friend, and the only way I could think of to get past it was to get rid of the same old scene. Then, one night, in bed, trying to sleep, it came to me…crossover! Solve two cliffhangers in one! :P OR try to. Let me know what you think. Should I continue? Get rid of the Fang Gang? They're limited time only, I'll get back to Dawn n' Buffy n' them later. :D  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Remorse wasn't something a vampire had to deal with. It simply didn't exist when a demon stole away with your soul. But now he had one. And the remorse was killing him. There were times when he thought it more than he could bear. Times he knew it would be easier to end it. And even as he walked away that morning, away from two people he couldn't live without, as he walked away with the sole purpose being to make himself a pile of dust…he couldn't do it. What kind of example would that be to Dawn? Hell, even to Buffy? Things get bad, make it quick and painless.  
  
"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. Now he was worrying about what kind of example he was. "What's next?"  
  
But he already knew the answer to that.  
  
What was next?  
  
Next was finding advice, something to help him get through the sleepless nights and endless soul tearing guilt. So he headed the one place he could think of.  
  
"Angel Investigations," a falsely cheery voice said as he pushed his way through the glass doors.   
  
He looked up at the long haired brunette that stood up as he entered. "Who're you?"  
  
A tall shaven headed black man came to stand next to her.   
  
"Fred," she answered. "And this is Charles Gunn."  
  
"Where's Peaches?" he asked confusedly. Who were these people?  
  
"Peaches?" Gunn asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Tall, broody guy," Spike answered shortly. "Need to see him."  
  
The two fell silent, exchanging looks.  
  
"What? Does he prefer sulking these days?" he asked.   
  
"What's your name again?" Gunn asked a bit hotly.   
  
"Spike…William…oh, bloody hell," he muttered. "Whatever. Where's Angel?"  
  
"We haven't seen him," Fred answered softly. "For a while now, actually."  
  
"He's missing?" Spike asked, taken aback. Worry for the man was buried by worries that he might never get the help he needed. That only succeeded in making him feel worse.  
  
"And Cordy, too," Fred added, sighing.  
  
"Chase?" Spike said with even more surprise in his voice. "And you're sure they haven't run off in a torrid affair or anything of the like?"  
  
Gunn scowled, Fred's eyes widened.   
  
She reminded him of Dawn. He shook that thought away. "Right, so that's a given."  
  
"When did this happen?" he followed up.  
  
"Hey, we're the detectives, maybe we should be doing the questioning," Gunn said darkly.  
  
"For starters, who are you exactly?" Fred asked.  
  
"Old mate of Angel's. We go…way back," Spike said slowly. "But I need to find him, and it looks to me as if you do, too." He pointed to the piles of overflowing files. "So if you've nothing else to do…"  
  
"Right," Gunn said, still eyeing Spike.  
  
  
  
  
  
Back in Sunnydale, things were quiet, morose.   
  
Dawn and Buffy tiptoed around, not wanting to say the wrong things, worried about setting each other off on another crying binge.  
  
Willow, still distraught over her relapse into the dark arts, stayed close to Xander, crying into the night when no one could hear.  
  
Anya, with Xander's help, made repairs on the Magic Box and reopened for business.  
  
Giles returned to England with promises to make frequent visits and phone calls.  
  
Things were of the norm in Sunnydale.  
  
Life was hell.  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike stood stoically, staring at the moon, arching his back to get the kinks out. He and the other two had spent the entire night looking for and following up leads, starting with Connor, who Spike was a little more than shocked to find out was Angel's son.   
  
Surprise, surprise, he was nowhere to be found.   
  
The others, mainly leads on tall dark men with "poofy hair" as Spike called it, had turned up nothing.   
  
He stared at the sky, sighing.   
  
"God knows we could use a bit of help," he muttered. "Then, you probably don't deal with the vampires, huh? 'Course you did give Angel a son, so who knows these days. If you're listening, O great ponce in the sky…we could use a little help."  
  
He scoffed. He was talking to a sky and a being who probably hated his kind, if he existed at all.  
  
His smirk fell flat from his face, though, when he saw a tiny glowing ball of white light dance in front of his eyes.  
  
"All right, mate," he told himself. "You're not drunk, but you're seeing things, that's for bloody sure."  
  
The ball zoomed past his face with a tin rush of air; he spun around to follow it with his gaze.  
  
It floated inside, and he followed, amazed and muttering curses.  
  
"What the…?" he whispered as the ball hovered over an open map.   
  
He leaned in to take a closer look, peering at the paper.  
  
The sphere of light traced along a road, finally coming to a hovering stop above a corner.   
  
Spike memorized the address, but still rubbed his eyes when he looked at the light before him.  
  
"I must be going insane," he said with a laugh.  
  
When the orb cascaded into a shimmery vision of Cordelia Chase herself, he knew he'd gone mad.   
  
"No, you haven't," she told him with a small smile.  
  
He gaped. "I am NOT seeing this."  
  
"You are," she contested. "Now you need to go find Angel. If you want help, if you want to help them, you need to find him. You can start there."  
  
"You're…dead?" he asked softly.  
  
"Not quite," she smiled. "Long story. Just…find him?"  
  
He nodded. "I plan on it."  
  
With another soft smile, she was gone.  
  
He checked the map, trying to find a sign he wasn't hallucinating. Nothing.  
  
"Sodding hell," he muttered. "It's better than nothing."  
  
  
  
  
  
Never one for the "ask questions first, shoot later" method of approach, Spike held the man at the counter of the cheap hotel by the throat, feeling only slightly guilty. After all, it wasn't really HURTING him. He read quickly through the manifest, hoping for some familiar clue.   
  
Nothing there, but only four rooms were occupied. He'd simply pick out those without the muffled sex noises coming from within and see where it got him.  
  
It must have been luck, or perhaps some kind of divine intervention - he wouldn't put that past judgment- but the first room he kicked the door into revealed a teenager matching Gunn and Fred's descriptions.   
  
He had been on the bed, but in a second had Spike against the wall.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded threateningly.  
  
Spike twisted around, grabbed the boy's arm, and shoved him face first into the wall, smacking his head off the plaster. Blood oozed from his nose almost instantly.  
  
"Friend of your father's," he whispered coolly, menacingly. "Now you, boy, are going to sit down, and listen, aren't you?"  
  
Connor writhed in his grip, slipping out and sending a blow to Spike's stomach.  
  
Angry then, Spike roared in frustration and grabbed Connor's wrist again, pushing him against the wall, holding him there by the pressure on his arm, and gave him a look that could have frozen the sun.  
  
"Wanna know why they call me Spike, kid? Hmm?" he said icily. "I took my victims' mate. Held 'em down by like I am now, and I pushed the sharpest bloody tip of a spike I could find right straight into their brain. Made 'em suffer. Made 'em scream in bleeding terror while their grey matter was oozing out the fucking hole in their skull! If you don't cooperate me I will make it so much slower and so much more painful than that for you. You know why? Because I can tell myself it's for the greater good. And it would be. Think I'd hesitate? Wanna try me? Go on, gimme an excuse."  
  
Something in him told Connor this was true, because he quieted down, piercing Spike with his gaze. "Another vampire."  
  
"Something like that," he muttered. "I'm gonna let go now. And you're going to do what?"  
  
"Cooperate," he said begrudgingly.  
  
"Good boy," Spike said with malice.  
  
He let go and true to his word Connor stood with arms slack.   
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"Who?" Connor asked, feigning ignorance.  
  
Spike growled low in his throat. "Don't toy with me, boy!"  
  
"He's been taken care of."  
  
"Wanna elaborate?"  
  
"No," Connor said seethingly.  
  
"Well you're going to," Spike said. "Remember the alternative."  
  
Connor glared. "He's in the ocean."  
  
Knowing it wasn't the time to give in with surprise, Spike said again, "Elaborate. Location."  
  
"No!" Connor cried angrily. "He killed my father! He was an old man, he was innocent, and he KILLED my FATHER!"  
  
"No, he didn't," Spike said with certainty. "He couldn't."  
  
"How would you know?" Connor asked. Spike could tell he was reaching his last nerve.  
  
He grabbed Connor's hand, but the grip was not fierce. "Because he couldn't. Because if he did it would eat at his soul and he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He could get away with that before because he had the demon in him doing the dirty work for him. Now? With his conscience nagging at him? He couldn't, more importantly, WOULDN'T do that. I know the man. Trust me."  
  
Connor looked away, toward the dirty carpet floor. "Off the pier. He's probably drifted, but…"  
  
Spike released his arm. "Good man. Now I'm gonna leave you here. I'm gonna go try to find your blood father…and hope it's not too late, for both of our sakes. Cause if he's dead, you're gonna have to live with what it's like knowing you killed your innocent father over nothing."  
  
He turned to the door, pausing on the threshold. "You come looking for him tomorrow night, Connor. You come and you see what you've done. And pray to whatever God you believe in that he can forgive you."  
  
When Connor looked up, tears unshed in his eyes, Spike was gone.  
  
Consciences are the devil. 


	6. 6

A/N: I'm writing this with less than 4 hours sleep, so if it bites the big one I'm blaming insomnia. Go flame him! Or her. Just don't get on it's bad side. Read and review, let me know what ya think. The crossover will probably end soon, and after that who knows what could happen? *grin* Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The loud whir of the cheap boat's motor was deafening in the silence of the black night. The small ocean breeze was not enough to drown the noise out, but Spike was fairly sure no one would hear and think it was someone out looking for a submerged vampire. Most likely they'd think a fishing boat or a couple out for some romantic setting.  
  
"You're sure he said off the pier?" Gunn shouted.  
  
"Bloody sure!" Spike called back, indignant.  
  
Gunn, sitting at the wheel of the small speedboat shut off the engine, the sudden silence louder than the noise. "Well, I guess here's as good as any place, then."  
  
"Right," Spike said. "We just gotta make this quick. Sun's gonna come up soon."  
  
"And Angel and the sun aren't a good mix," Fred said with a small smile.  
  
'Doesn't do me so well either,' he said to himself.  
  
"How are you going to see to the bottom?" Fred asked then. "I mean, without an air tank and all, you can't go that far down. And how will you bring him up? Unless you get him out of it while you're down there. Which is impossible, without a crowbar or something, which we have, and it'd take up way too much air…and I'm babbling."  
  
Spike rested a hand on her shoulder. "You let me worry about that."  
  
He turned to Gunn, pulling off his boots and shirt. "Hand me that torch."  
  
Gunn passed the large waterproof flashlight to him, and looked at Spike. "You're gonna freeze."  
  
"You want him back or what?" he said testily. "Let me worry about, both of you. I'll find him."  
  
Fred stopped him before he jumped over the edge. "You're doing all this for us, and we still don't really know your name…"  
  
He was sure of his answer this time. "Call me William for now, love. I'll be back with Hair-Boy in a jiffy."  
  
As a last thought he reached for the crowbar Fred had mentioned before and stuck it in his belt, disliking the heavy metal banging against his leg. With a deep breath he gave them a final nod and jumped.  
  
The water was definitely cold, and it shocked him as he sunk, the crowbar and the torch adding to his weight. He opened his eyes, turned on the light, and turned himself around, diving deeper.  
  
The murky depths gave him a chill-factor he didn't much enjoy, and he wondered briefly if it was worth it. After all, there were sharks in the ocean, and he'd never much liked Angel…okay, that wasn't true. He'd looked up to him at some point in his long un-life.  
  
He swung the yellow arc of light here and there, searching for what seemed to him like hours, until the beam began to dim.  
  
No doubt Fred and Gunn would have figured something was up, or guessed that he was dead and gone home..  
  
Just as he was about to give up, he saw it.  
  
A large metal box sunk deep into the sands of the bottom, looking like a giant underground coffin…which, really, was what it was.  
  
He swam closer, battling to stay on the bottom, and came to the front of it. There was a glass panel; he looked inside.  
  
Angel.  
  
He was pale and gaunt, much like Spike himself, and his eyes were closed, lips pressed together tightly.   
  
Spike rapped on the metal with his knuckles, and bloodied them up before realizing Angel couldn't hear. He then tried with the flashlight, and final pulled the crowbar out, slamming it against the metal.  
  
Angel's eyes shot open. His pupils dilated, adjusting to the new light, and it took him a moment to focus on Spike's face. Upon seeing his old rival, he took on a confused look, which segued into anger, then back into confusion and hurt.   
  
His eyelids began to droop again, and Spike delivered another blow which sent them wide open again.  
  
He pointed to him, then at his own eyes, intently delivering the message that Angel was to look at him and keep awake.  
  
He grimaced as he slipped the crowbar into the tiny crack between the lid and the box, but soon found that there wasn't enough space to get any leverage.  
  
Angel's hopeful look faded.  
  
Holding to the box to keep himself anchored on the bottom, Spike took a hold of the lid and pulled with all his might. He pulled and pulled, managing to break at least two of the fingers on his right hand, and cursed, accidentally pulling water in to his dead lungs. Even if he didn't need the air, it was more than a bit uncomfortable.  
  
He slammed himself with a barrage of words. He should've at least had a bit of blood, then he'd not be so weak.  
  
No good. He had to get Angel out. He was driven with the need and it surprised him.  
  
He wedged his swollen bruised fingers into the small division and pulled again.   
  
This time he channeled all his anger, all his guilt, all emotion into his arms. He thought of all the times Buffy had insulted him, all the times he'd wanted to hit Xander, all the good times with the Bit and the Slayer, every last morsel he could find, back to the words Cecily had spoken so long ago.  
  
"You're beneath me," the voices of Cecily and Buffy mixed into his head.  
  
With a violent clank and force that sent Spike backwards in the water, the door removed with a mass of bubbles.  
  
Moving the door from his chest, aching with effort, weak from it all, he grabbed Angel's arms and pulled him from the box.  
  
The older vampire clung to his arms with what little strength he had left, and Spike kicked as fast and hard as he could, propelling them to the surface.  
  
His head broke surface long enough for him to cough, then he pushed Peaches up and sunk back under with the weight.  
  
He kicked himself up, gagging the water from his lungs, feeling the fatigue setting in.  
  
He needed to find Fred and Gunn before his body shut down involuntarily.  
  
There! The light from the front of the boat, maybe a mile away, blinking.  
  
"Can you swim?" he choked out, still holding Angel above water.  
  
"What…what are you doing here?" was the raspy answer.  
  
"Twenty questions later," Spike said. "Right now I need to get you to the boat. Can you swim?"  
  
A pathetic shake of the head. "Not much. I'm weak."  
  
Spike floated on his back, grabbed Angel around the shoulders and neck and began the arduous swim.   
  
It took nearly an hour at that pace, and he could tell them didn't have much time before dawn.  
  
"Gunn!" he vaguely heard Fred cry. "Look!"  
  
He was there, the light shining down on the waters, and he could feel them reach down and take Angel from him.  
  
Despite the drastic change, he was still too tired to swim and felt himself begin to sink.  
  
"No you don't," Gunn grunted, grabbing the vampire's bare shoulders and dragging him limply into the boat.  
  
He collapsed next to Angel, on the floor of the craft, and sent a look of gratitude toward him. "Thanks, mate."  
  
"Yeah, sure," Gunn replied. "Forget to tell us something?"  
  
He shot a quizzical glance to the pair standing there.  
  
"Like how it is you can stay under for two hours and not be dead?" Fred pointed out.  
  
"I may have left that out…"Spike said. "Right, look, I'm a vampire, grr, all big and bad. Can we please go?"  
  
He must have looked pathetic, because the two took their seats at the front without another word. More likely they were just in a rush to get Angel home.  
  
They pulled up to the docks a while later, and he stumbled off the tipsy craft, helping Gunn get Angel to his truck.  
  
Fred and Gunn took the front and Spike sat in the back, making sure the unconscious Angel didn't bounce too much.  
  
The air rushing past froze his cold skin and he swore ice must be forming on his hair. It wasn't, of course, but he was as cold as…wherever was really cold.  
  
He thumped on the window, catching Gunn's attention even though he wasn't appearing in the rearview mirror. "Can you hurry it up a bit, there?"  
  
Gunn merely pressed down on the accelerator as a reply.   
  
He instantly regretted suggesting that. The air rushed past even faster, and he began to shiver.  
  
"Damn it all to hell," he muttered with chattering teeth. "I come to ask a bit of advice and what do I end up with?"  
  
Beneath a blanket, in deep sleep, Angel did not answer.  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, Buffster," Xander said catching her arm as she went past in the Magic Box. "I just heard from someone. Looks like Spike's back in town."  
  
"Uh, don't worry, Xander," Buffy said softly. "We don't have to worry about him."  
  
"We don't? We do! After what he…tried to do?" Xander replied in a fierce whisper.  
  
"No, Xander, we don't," Buffy said. "He's dead."  
  
He let go of her arm, staring in a bit of a shocked way. "What?"  
  
"Don't be so happy, Xander," Buffy said, stalking away with an arm full of books.   
  
He watched her go. "Am I smiling?"  
  
Sure, he hated the guy…but it was in that "love to hate" way. Over the summer…well, Spike had saved them all more than once. He knew he should be glad that the vamp was dead, really should…but he wasn't as glad as he would have liked to be.  
  
"Buffy!" he shouted after her.  
  
She turned to look for a moment.  
  
"I'm sorry," he finally said.  
  
She smiled a bit and nodded. "Thanks." 


	7. 7

Spike pulled the long arms of the hooded sweatshirt Gunn had leant him over his arms, fumbling for a moment with the digits he'd broken earlier. Fred had insisted on taping them together so they would heal straight. He shivered and bit his lip to keep his teeth from chattering.   
  
In the room before him Fred was kneeling by the bed he and Gunn had placed Angel's limp body on. She had covered him up and was checking to make sure there was nothing serious damaged on his body.  
  
"He gonna be all right?" he asked as she stood.  
  
"I'm not really qualified for this kinda thing," she said shyly. "but I think he should be. He just needs to rest and drink plenty of…blood. Get his strength back. He should be good as new."  
  
"His own son sunk him in the ocean," Spike said softly. "He's never gonna be like new."  
  
Fred lost her smile and nodded. "I'll just go heat up some blood."  
  
Spike watched her go and ran a hand through his still slightly wet hair. He walked hesitantly to the bed and kicked the frame lightly. "Wakey, wakey."  
  
The older vampire's eyes flickered.   
  
"Come on," Spike urged. "You're not dead. Time t'get up."  
  
"Spike," Angel hissed, opening his eyes.   
  
"Miss me?" Spike said humorlessly.  
  
"Like a hole in the chest," Angel answered weakly, struggling to sit up.  
  
Spike debated helping him, decided against it.  
  
"Why are you here?" Angel asked, leaning against the headboard.  
  
"This is the thanks I get for saving your life?" he asked with a faint smirk.  
  
"That wasn't a dream?" Angel muttered in confusion, wiping sweat from his pale face. "You…what the hell happened to you? Your hair…and you look like a skeleton."  
  
"Look who's talking!" Spike said indignantly, looking down at himself. It was true. He was way too skinny; all his clothes hung off his frame now.  
  
Angel looked down at himself, his rubs sticking out, his collar bone pronounced, all bones. "Damn. You're right."  
  
Spike huffed. "Course I am."  
  
Remembering his hatred for Spike, Angel looked sharply at him. "Why are you here, Spike?"  
  
A haunted look crossed his gaunt face, then he sucked in an unneeded breath. "I can for some advice. Found you in an ocean. You always were one for the drama."  
  
Angel scowled.  
  
"Come on now. Not out of the water three hours and you're already brooding?" Spike taunted.  
  
"Advice on what, Spike?" Angel said in a tone that clearly said 'you're testing my patience'.  
  
There was that look again.  
  
He looked down at his bare feet, wishing he had socks. "Advice on…on-"  
  
"Fresh blood!" Fred's chipper voice announced as she carried two mugs into the room. "Oh! You're awake! Angel!"  
  
A smile crossed Angel's face and Spike shied back.  
  
"Fred. Fred. It's good to see you. Where's Gunn? And Cordy?" he asked, accepting the mug and drinking deeply.  
  
Fred paused for a moment, offering the other cup to Spike.  
  
"No thanks, love," he said, eyes on Angel.  
  
She nodded, turned back to Angel. "Gunn's downstairs. Cordy…we haven't seen her since the night you went missing."  
  
Angel's face clouded. "She's…missing?"  
  
"Uh...not exactly so," Spike said.  
  
"What?" Fred and Angel said in synch.   
  
"She's…around," he said carefully. "She said she'd explain it in time…"  
  
Fred looked surprised. "Really?"  
  
"You're not lying, Spike?" Angel seethed.  
  
"No, not lying," he said softly. "In fact, she's the one who helped me find…what I needed to find you."  
  
He send Spike an odd look, but nodded. "So, she's coming back?"  
  
"She didn't clarify it that much," Spike said.   
  
He nodded again.  
  
"Well…" Fred said slowly. "I'm going to go downstairs and tell Gunn the good news."  
  
She took Angel's two empty mugs and exited hurriedly.  
  
Angel turned his attention on Spike again. "Advice on what?"  
  
"You never bloody forget, do you?" he said ruefully.  
  
"No."  
  
"How do you deal with it, Angel?" Spike asked sadly.  
  
Shocked by the tone in his voice as well as the fact that Spike had actually used his name and not some variation of "poof", Angel stammered, "W-what? Deal with what?"  
  
Spike's look was one of anguish. "Living. Knowing what you did…before?"  
  
Angel gave a short laugh. "William the Bloody finally grown a conscience?"  
  
When the angry look he'd expected was replaced with one of more pain, Angel was silent.  
  
"No," Spike finally answered. "A soul. But hey, same thing, right?"  
  
He was silent.  
  
Finally he managed to choke out. "Soul?"  
  
"Right," Spike sneered. "Give the man a bloody prize!"  
  
Now THERE was the Spike he knew. "How the hell did this happen?"  
  
Spike laughed. "Funniest story. Really something to make your mates laugh next time you're at a bar. Knew of a bloke in Africa, went to see him about a matter. Then there's some fighting, some nasty bugs, and some more fighting, not necessarily in that order. I was too out of it to make much sense. Next thing I know this guy's got his hand on my chest and poof! Soul."  
  
Angel absorbed this. "You better not be lying."  
  
"What would I have to gain?" Spike asked with a shake of his head. "I'm pretty sure I don't hate you enough to go through all that set up. I'm not that patient. 'Sides, I saved your life. You at least owe it to me to believe me."  
  
"Why the hell would you ask for a soul?" Angel said suspiciously.  
  
"I didn't!" Spike exploded. "I didn't ask for this bleeding soul! I wanted something entirely different! Fates just love screwing with me, eh? Can you just answer my fucking question!?"  
  
"Calm down," Angel said. "I deal with it by helping others, Spike. By not being the same man I was. With help from my friends."  
  
"Problem is," Spike said. "I'm still the man I was, deep down. And I've got no friends to help me. So what do I do?"  
  
He sat in silence. "I don't know."  
  
Spike snorted, sitting in the easy chair by the wall. "Right. Of course."  
  
"How did this all start, Spike?" Angel asked a while later.  
  
"With love, mate. Love," Spike said, not elaborating. "But I figure types like us, maybe we're meant to die alone."  
  
"Dad?"   
  
Spike's head shot up at the sudden intrusion.   
  
Angel was staring at the door in shock.  
  
"C…Stephen," Angel said hoarsely.   
  
"It's Connor," the boy said, swallowing hard. "I'm Connor…"  
  
"Course, I've been known to be wrong," Spike said, slipping silently from the room as Connor approached his father.   
  
He smiled a sorrowful smile.  
  
"Maybe it's just me who's meant to die alone," he whispered.  
  
  
  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn cried up the stairs. "Have you seen my jacket?"  
  
"In the basement," her sister called back. "It's got blood on the sleeve, remember?"  
  
Dawn turned quickly to her friend Janice. "Fake blood, duh. Xander's old friend was here filming a movie for his student class. I got to be the first murder victim."  
  
Janice nodded. "Cool. How'd you go?"  
  
"Sword," Dawn said quickly. "It was…uh, really cool."  
  
Janice grinned. "So do I get to see the movie when it's done?"  
  
"I hope," Dawn lied. "It was awesome."  
  
It seemed to her that she was lying a lot more these days. And she was getting better and better at it. Like when she told Buffy she didn't cry over Spike.   
  
"Let's go," Dawn said as she grabbed one of Buffy's jackets from the closet.  
  
"Dawn?" Janice asked when her friend faltered. "Whoa, cool jacket. Who's is it?"  
  
Dawn touched the black leather duster fondly. "It was…it was a good friends."  
  
"Was…not sounding good," Janice said.  
  
"He's gone now," Dawn said shutting the closet firmly. "No biggie."  
  
Another convincing lie.   
  
Damn, she was good. 


	8. 8

Something about that place always drew him back in the end. No matter how hard he resisted, no matter how hard he told himself that was the last hell he wanted to visit, he couldn't keep himself from going back. At first he thought the familiar sights might give him some comfort, some sense of home, but the moment he passed that damned "Welcome To Sunnydale" sign, his head screamed out, and he flinched at the rush of memories that bore down on him with painful vividness.  
  
The wheel of the stolen car was wrenched out of his hands, and he felt the vehicle lurch to the side. He grabbed at the wheel as he regained his senses, and pulled it back onto the road before he smashed into the guardrail like he had in Santa Fe. Mumbling under his breath, he hunched forwards, squinting through tired eyes at the yellow lines on the road before him.  
  
"Gotta pay attention, mate," he told himself softly, as he pulled up to a street and parked between two SUVs.   
  
He ditched the car there, grabbing the already worn jean jacket he'd managed to buy in LA. He glared at the thing in distaste, realizing that he looked totally unlike himself. Tattered blue jeans, grey t-shirt, that ugly jacket. The only thing he'd managed to save of his own were his prized Docs. He took a moment to glance fondly at them.   
  
Sliding the cursed garment on his bony frame, he began the long trek to the graveyard he'd called his own territory for so long.   
  
In his condition, weary, starving, and still slightly injured from a bar fight the previous night, it took him over an hour. The old grounds greeted him like an old friend- one you loved but couldn't help to hate.   
  
"Home sweet home," he muttered.  
  
He fumbled with shaky hands at the pockets of his jacket, searching for a pack of cigarettes, and cursed when he found none. He angrily kicked at a headstone, but didn't have the strength to topple it. He pulled out his lighter, glaring at the grave marker, and flicked the Zippo open.  
  
*FLASH*   
  
A woman and her child, screaming as flames enveloped their house, growing nearer to the corner they were hidden in.  
  
"You should've come out when I asked," Spike said jovially, tossing down the rest of the liquor in the brown bottle he held. Sniffing at the smell of burning skin, he shrugged and tossed the matchbook down indifferently.   
  
*FLASH*  
  
He blinked twice, caught off guard by that vision, and roared angrily, stuffing his lighter in his pocket.  
  
These memories had been coming for so long that he'd gotten tired of crying like a bloody wanker and finally started getting angry. They were an annoyance, and he was tired of seeing the pain he'd inflicted.  
  
He blinked again and stared at his hand in surprise, realizing that it hurt for some reason. The fist was bloodied and already bruising. Making a face, he looked down and saw a chunk of cement missing from the headstone. There was a pile of stone on the grass, covered with grey dust.   
  
"Damn," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Over here!" a voice shouted suddenly. "I'm staking this time!"  
  
Spike recognized that voice. He groaned angrily, putting two and two together. The sisters had heard his cry of rage and assumed someone was in trouble. Great. Just bloody great.  
  
He hopped onto a large headstone, sighing in defeat, and waiting for them to rush into view.  
  
"Dawn, wait up!" Buffy's voice said as the two crashed through the foliage to Spike's front, in true slayer fashion.  
  
She crashed headfirst into her taller sister when Dawn stopped in her tracks, staring at the man on the stone.  
  
"S-Spike?" Dawn whispered in disbelief.  
  
"The cavalry's here!" Spike shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Never fear, we're saved! The world is righted again!"  
  
His arms fell limply to his sides as the two girls stared.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy said finally. "Is that you?"  
  
He laughed a short gruff laugh that had no humor in it. "I dunno, Slayer, I really don't know."  
  
Dawn took a step forward, and threw off the arm Buffy held out to stop her.   
  
"Spike," she said, and he was surprised to hear gladness in her voice.   
  
Imagine that…gladness to see him. HIM.  
  
"H'lo, Dawn," he said finally, warily.   
  
"I thought you were dead!" she screamed angrily, shoving him backwards, her stake falling to the ground.   
  
He fell off the grave, landing hard on his back, and when he got to his knees he was tackled again. Only this time, instead of being shoved, he was being embraced. Arms tightly wrapped around him, holding on tightly, making sure he couldn't pull away.  
  
His arms still lay at his side, his eyes dull, not registering the surprise. Slowly, though, he lifted heavy limbs and encircled the thin girl, gripping her just as strong.  
  
She was crying, he could feel the tears on his cheek as she pulled her head back to look at him.   
  
"I thought you were dead," she sniffed.  
  
He stood up, lifting her with him, and pushed her arms back to her sides.  
  
"I am."  
  
She looked confused.   
  
Buffy stepped forward then, and grabbed Dawn's hand for support. Whether it was for her or for her sister remained to be seen.  
  
"Spike," she said gently, lip trembling despite her will to be strong.  
  
"Buffy," he regarded her.  
  
"If you're dead, how are you talking to us?" Dawn broke in, crying. "You are not dead!"  
  
He grabbed her other hand and pressed it to his chest. "Silence speaks louder than words."  
  
She pulled her hand back, frowning.  
  
"You're scaring her," Buffy said, staring at him.  
  
"Look at where she lives," he said with a shrug. "It's nothing new."  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Fear," Angelus said, sniffing the blood pouring from the woman's neck. "Always makes the kill sweeter."  
  
Spike caught the half dead woman in his arms. She stirred.  
  
"Please," she mumbled, her last words. "Please don't…"  
  
He sank his fangs into her tender neck.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Spike?"   
  
It was Buffy, sounding concerned. He chortled inwardly. Concerned, pff. That would happen.  
  
He turned to her nevertheless. "Huh?"  
  
"Where were you just then?" she asked with raised brows.   
  
"Total space out," Dawn confirmed.   
  
He shook his head. "What do you two want?"  
  
"Want?" Buffy asked, now even more confused.  
  
"Yeah, want," he repeated.  
  
"N-nothing," Dawn said. "Are you okay, Spike?"  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"I think you'll enjoy this," he said sadistically, positioning the piece of wood just right. "Really, loads of fun…"  
  
*FLASH*  
  
He shook his head again. "What?"  
  
Both of them were staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. He even looked over to make sure he hadn't, and burst into laughter when he realized how ridiculous he was being.  
Great, now they looked shocked.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
He looked at Spike in shock as he realized what was about to happen.  
  
"N-no!"  
  
"Don't resist so much," he said softly. "It doesn't hurt so much…once your dead."  
  
*FLASH*  
  
He needed a few seconds to grasp the fact that he'd said that aloud, but needed only one to take off as fast as he could, leaving them behind.  
  
Now if he could only outrun the screams. 


	9. 9

Here's the next part, guys. Hope you're still reading. Let me know what you think! A few good reviews and I'll write the next part! J  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dawn Summers was a girl with a mission. A mission that would mean big trouble if her sister found out. Which was why she was trying to be as stealthy as humanly possible as she pulled up her window, climbed out, and managed her way down the trellis by her window.   
  
As she hopped to the ground, brushing wood splinters and peeled paint off of her hands, she laughed inwardly. Whoever had thought of putting that trellis so close to her window had obviously not known a teenage girl would one day occupy that room. She smirked, glad for that fact.   
  
She looked around to make sure she wasn't being watched, then set off on her way.  
  
  
  
  
Spike rolled the neck of the bottle between, glaring at the amount of liquid inside the greenish brown bottle. He'd started out with intent to get smashed and forget all about his troubles, but as he knew, things didn't always turn out the way he wanted. Still, he'd never have guessed that the thing keeping him from fulfilling his plans for the night would be himself. He was sitting cross legged on Joyce's grave with a six pack of beer by his side, the missing bottle still full in his hands.   
  
"Cheers, Joyce," he said, taking a sip.  
  
He frowned as the liquid made its way down his throat, and picked up the flimsy cardboard case that held the beer, tossing it into a nearby bush.   
  
For the first time in a long while he had no desire to down the liquid for an easy way to forget his worries. He wanted to float blissfully into nothingness, but the beer wasn't the way he wanted to go.   
  
A twig snapped in front of him, and Dawn pushed away some branches to step out of the foliage and into full view.   
  
"Didn't expect to find you here," she said quietly.  
  
"I could say the same of you," he said, gulping the beer, now thinking that beer bliss might not be such a bad thing after all. "Shouldn't you be in your bed, dreaming of puppies and sunshine?"  
  
She pressed her lips together. "I don't dream of those things anymore, Spike.I dream of monsters and death. Part of living on the Hellmouth I guess."  
  
He nodded sadly. "Didn't s'pose you did. What're you doin', Bit?"  
  
"I came to see you," she said with a shrug.   
  
"You shouldn't have," he said, staring at the epitaph on the girl's mother's grave.   
  
"It's a free country, Spike," she said sharply. "I'm a big girl now."  
  
"Well, if you walk alone in graveyards in Sunnyhell, it won't last very long," he said just as sharp.  
  
"I can take care of myself," she spat. "but you wouldn't know that, would you?"  
  
He sighed. "No."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, composing herself again. "I went to your crypt looking for you. When I didn't find you there I went around the grounds to see if you were passed out drunk somewhere."  
  
He glanced at the beer in his hand and shrugged, launching it high into the air. It smashed with a tintinnabulation of falling glass, deafening in the silent night.   
  
Dawn cringed. "I wanted to give you this."   
  
He stared at the brown paper sack as if it were an alien. "Whassat?"  
  
"Blood," she said, shaking it slightly.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
Blood rolling down a child's neck, soaking into the collar of her white dress.  
  
"Have a taste, my sweet Spike," Dru's singsong voice said, tantalizing him. "It tastes so deliciously alive."  
  
Spike, in game face, licking the side of Dru's mouth, where blood had trailed down when she was feeding. He smiled a wicked smile and bit down on the neck of the seven year old, hearing her please echo through the dark alley.  
  
"Mommy!"  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Spike?" Dawn asked in a concerned voice.   
  
He stared at her.   
  
"You were zoning," she said.   
  
"What's it for?" he said nodding his head at the blood.  
  
"For you to drink, duh," she said with a small laugh.   
  
"'M not hungry," he mumbled, feeling sick.  
  
She gaped angrily. "You've got to eat, Spike! Look at you, you're like a frigging skeleton! You're gonna die if you don't feed!"  
  
"So?" he said stubbornly.  
  
"So?" she repeated, then exploded. "SO!? You can't die, Spike! You can't leave me like Mom did! Are you stupid? Do you want to die?"  
  
Her voice got smaller with the last five words. It tore at his heart.  
  
"What if I do?" he said in a serious, wondering tone.  
  
"I'll kick your ass," she glared, tears spilling from her eyes. "Nothing's that hard, Spike. Nothing."  
  
"How would you even know?" he asked, realizing how stupid a question that was too late.  
  
"How?" she said stonily. "How would I know? Me? The glowing ball of mystical energy? I'm not even real. That woman who died? She wasn't my mom, my best friend. I didn't watch my sister sacrifice herself to close a portal and save the world when it should've been me. None of it ever happened. Cause I'm not even real. I guess you're right, Spike. I couldn't know unbearable pain."  
  
"'M sorry Nibblet," he said softly. "I am."  
  
He looked to his lap, where he was picking at one of the scabs from earlier that night.   
  
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling so much.  
  
"I shouldn't have said that," he said. "I know what you've been through…I'm sorry."  
  
She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Spike…I don't know what would happen if you died. You're the only one I could ever talk to. Before, when we thought you were dead…the final kind of dead, I could even get out of bed for a week. I thought I was gonna die myself. I almost…"  
  
"Almost what?" he prodded.  
  
She held out her arm, revealing a white bandage over one wrist.  
  
No wonder he'd smelled blood. His eyes went wide and he sprung to his feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to take him down again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again! Don't even think about it!"  
  
She was scared, but touched at the look of fear in his eyes when he saw the bandage.  
  
"Buffy found me in the middle of it," she said. "She stopped me…we're trying not to think about it."  
  
He swallowed hard, thinking of his Little Bit laying pale and lifeless in a pool of her own blood and his heart wrenched.  
  
"Bit…"  
  
She nodded, and he knew she understood. He knew it wouldn't happen again.  
  
"I was so scared," she said. "I could feel the life leaving me, and I was terrified."  
  
He touched her arm, unwilling to get any closer to her.   
  
She held out the blood to him sniffing. "Eat."  
  
He shook his head. "I can't, Bit."  
  
"Please?" she asked.  
  
"I can't," he stressed. "I just can't."  
  
"But why?" she pleaded. "You'll die!"  
  
*FLASH*  
  
Blood and flesh, dead bodies littering the streets, Dru, drinking beside him, Angelus, Darla, the screams. God, the screams.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
He swallowed and almost fell to his knees, clutching Dawn's shoulder.   
  
"It's too much, too soon, Bit," he rasped. "I can't."  
  
She nodded, fighting tears.  
  
He took in deep breaths, which did nothing but help him relax slightly. He needed a cigarette.  
  
"What do you see?" she whispered.  
  
"What?" he asked, brow furrowed.  
  
"When you space out," she clarified. "What do you see?"  
  
"Lots of things," he replied, not wanting to go any further in detail.   
  
"Like what?" she persisted.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
A man pinned down by a railroad spike, blood oozing from his neck and mouth, brain matter oozing from his ear.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Just things, Bit."  
  
"Are they that bad?" she asked, reading his look.  
  
Worse, he wanted to say.   
  
"They're bearable," he lied.  
  
She was quiet, not sure of anything she could say to make it better.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
"Go home to bed," he said, taking the bag from her finally.  
  
"Only if you eat," she said doggedly.  
  
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll eat."  
  
She stood there with crossed arms.   
  
"Not with you watching!" he cried. "Can't a guy get any privacy?"  
  
"No," she said. "Cause when I leave you'll just pour it out."  
  
He sighed. She had him figured out.  
  
It was hard to keep himself from slipping into his vampire mask as he brought the plastic cup of blood out of the bag and slid the lid off, raising it to his lips.  
  
He shut his eyes tightly and drank the cold liquid as fast as he could, throwing down the cup as he finished, wiping the excess blood from his lips with the jacket sleeve.  
  
"Good," she said, satisfied.  
  
"Now go to bed," he told her.  
  
She nodded. "Good night, Spike."  
  
"'Night," he said back, watching her go.  
  
He listened with his heightened hearing that, while he was weak, was still greater than a human's. When he was sure she was gone, he let out a deep shuddering breath.  
  
He turned in the direction of his crypt, intending to return sleep for a day, maybe two, maybe forever, so he could forget the memories that kept surfacing.  
  
He took a step in that direction…and was sick in the bushes that concealed his leftover beer, regurgitating all that he'd stomached. 


	10. 10

Here we go, folks, the next installment. I tried to include the Scooby gang a bit moer and tie up some loose ends. Hope ya like! If you do, let me know. If you don't, let me know. Just leave me notes!!! :-D  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Do you think she's ready?" Xander whispered to Buffy, watching Giles hold her arm as he helped her from the car.   
  
"I don't know," Buffy said honestly. "I really don't. But she wanted to come, and I guess maybe she needs to."  
  
Dawn looked knowingly at her sister and nodded despite the fact that no one had asked her. Buffy was right. It was the same way when their mom had died. Going to the grave had hurt more than anything she could imagine, but she needed to do it. Doing it gave her a small sense of relief; it started the healing process.  
  
Willow, clad in a long dark green skirt and a white peasant top, held tightly to Giles' arm, swaying unsteadily at the gates to the cemetery.   
  
None of them had been too keen about her visiting a grave at night, not in Sunnydale, but the fact of the matter was, Willow wasn't ready to see her friends, let alone any of the other people she'd tried to annihilate.   
  
Buffy stepped forward, handing her the bouquet of white roses Will had picked out. "Want us to go with you?"  
  
Willow sniffed and replied in that small voice she had adopted, "No…no I want to go alone."  
  
At their nods, she began the long arduous walk to Tara's grave.   
  
Once she was out of their view she allowed a few tears to cascade down he cheeks, and by the time she was kneeling, setting down the flowers, she was bawling quietly.   
  
"I loved you so much, Tara," she sobbed. "Goddess, I loved you. I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry!"  
  
"I heard Tinkerbell was…" Spike's soft voice approached. "I just didn't know it was true."  
  
Willow looked up, but once she saw who it was, turned back to the grave, not caring that he was supposed to be dust touching the grass lightly, still crying. "She…she…I never got a chance to tell her how much I loved her."  
  
Spike knelt and laid a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't meet his gaze he lifted her chin with gentle fingers. "She knows, Red."  
  
"How can you know that?" she contested angrily. "You're a vampire."  
  
He cringed. "I know that, luv, because I know a thing or two about love. Thing I know best, is that when you really love a person - love 'em like you two loved each other- it's not about the 'I love you's'. It's about this," he said somberly, placing a hand over her heart. "It's a feeling so deep you can't ignore it no matter how much you try, no matter how much you want to. It's deeper than flesh and bones and blood. It's in the soul. It's forever. Eternal."  
  
She let out a tortured whimper.  
  
"Death can't stop love," he told her sincerely.   
  
"I miss her so much!" she exploded in tearful moans.   
  
"She knows that, too," Spike told her. "And she's missin' you, too. But there's nothing you can do about that…except wait to be together when it's time."  
  
"What if I don't wanna wait for time?" she spat. "What if I want it to be now? What if I ended it myself?"  
  
He looked her in the eye. "S'not the way. What would Tara think?"  
  
Willow softened at her love's name, but sneered. "What's one more thing? I tried to end the world."  
  
"And I'm damn glad you didn't," he said, forcing her again to look at him. "And you think she wouldn't be glad about that? That there was something, whatever it was, inside you that wouldn't let you?"  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
"That's the Willow she loved. Kind and gentle little girl who wouldn't want to hurt anyone," he told her.  
  
"But I did want to hurt them," she said. "I wanted to kill them all!"  
  
"It was the magick," he guessed, and knew he was right by the look in her eyes. "That's what happened, innit?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Magick's a powerful thing, Red. But I'm sure you know that. And I'm sure you know that sometimes the dark magick can take you over, playing on your emotions until you're not yourself," he said, remembering something he'd seen before, a man totally possessed by the Black magick. "Know what else? Tara knows that too. She'd only care that you stopped. She'd love you for stopping. She'd forgive you."  
  
Willow sobbed out loud again, tears coming back full force.  
  
Spike stood up, drawing back his hands. "Now all you have to do is forgive yourself."  
  
"How?" she asked, looking up.  
  
"I wouldn't know," he said grimly. "All I know is it's not gonna be easy, and it's not gonna be quick. But you've got your friends. They'll help you. And you've got her, inside you."  
  
She smiled for the first time, looking at the roses on the bright green grass. When she looked up to say something, to thank him, he was gone, almost as if he'd never been there at all.  
  
In his place, a glimmer of light in the darkness, and an unmistakable face, a smile she would have recognized if she were blind.  
  
And she didn't cry at the sight, because she read the smile as well as she did when Tara was alive. Tara understood. And she forgave.   
  
Willow returned the smile.  
  
  
  
  
"What's taking her so long?" Anya asked, looking at her watch. "I've got to get back to the Magic Box for inventory."  
  
"Relax, An," Xander said softly. "This is…delicate."  
  
Anya, not fully getting the big deal, was quiet, because Xander spoke to her like nothing had happened between them, and it had been awhile since that had happened.  
  
"Do you think anything's wrong?" Dawn asked warily. "It's nighttime and all."  
  
Buffy had already worried over this, and that made the worry even worse. "That's it, I'm going in there."  
  
Not a second after the words left her mouth, Willow came into view, standing up straighter, and walked from the gates back to the friends that loved and accepted her no matter what.  
  
"Will?" Buffy and Xander asked together.   
  
She gave them the biggest smile she could muster. It wasn't a full fledged smile, but it wasn't a frown, either. That was all that mattered.  
  
  
  
  
"What do you think happened in there?" Anya asked Xander later as the nursed coffee at Buffy's kitchen table.  
  
"I don't know," he said, staring past the woman into the living room, where Buffy and Willow were talking- God, actually talking- on the couch. "But whatever it was, I'm not complaining."  
  
"You really love her, don't you?" Anya said softly, staring at her coffee as she stirred it.  
  
Xander looked at her, waiting until she looked up to see if he would answer, catching her gaze. "There aren't a lot of people in this world I can say I love, and there are probably less that love me back. So when I say I love you…I mean it."  
  
She blinked a few times, then looked away.   
  
"I mean it, An," he told her, swallowing hard.  
  
"You're wrong, you know," she said softly, staring at the clock on the wall as it ticked away.  
  
"About what?" he asked, furrowing his brow.  
  
"There are a lot of people who love you," she clarified.   
  
"Not a lot," he argued.  
  
"Enough," she said, finally looking in his eyes. "We both said and did a lot of things, Xander. Bad things, wrong things…but that's no reason to start hating each other."  
  
Blinking back tears in his macho man act, Xander gave her a wobbly smile, and his heart soared when she returned it, an honest to goodness smile, with lose hidden somewhere beneath the surface.  
  
  
  
Giles watched Buffy and Willow from afar, leaning against the doorframe, unwilling to break into whatever conversation they were having for fear that it might undo whatever had been done to make her smile and talk, things she hadn't done in far too long.  
  
This was his family, he realized. This dysfunctional group of people, demons, and mystical balls of energy.   
  
They had all grown so much since the when they first met. They'd grown up in too short a time, but they had turned out all right after all.   
  
He smiled inwardly.   
  
Family.  
  
  
  
Dawn sat at the top of the steps, observing everyone with interest, and grinning.   
  
Something magical had happened that day.   
  
People came together, things began to right themselves. It would be a long time before anything was the way it was, but it was the best start she could have hoped for.   
  
  
  
  
On a quiet street in Sunnydale, life began again.  
  
Somewhere in LA, a father and a son began the long road to a relationship they had missed out on so many times.  
  
And lost inside his mind, somewhere in a hell that he'd created, a forsaken Englishman screamed. 


	11. 11

A/n: Ahh, the next part is here. Guys, let me know what's going on out there! Do you like it? Hate It? Should I keep going? Any suggestions? Flames? Let me know, review!! Oh, and by the way…I still don't own these people, or anything along that line. I wish I did, though. Joss Whedon is a God. No, he's the God! LOL.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
An unfamiliar scent greeted Buffy the next morning as soon as she awoke. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sniffed once, twice, trying to identify the smell. Food, that was for sure. Maybe Dawn was making breakfast. Did she start school today? No, that wasn't until next week. She got out of bed, stretching a bit, then padded down the hall to Dawn's room, knocking on the door twice before pushing it open.  
  
"That answer's that question," she said to herself as Dawn looked up from writing in her diary.  
  
"Hey, Buffy," Dawn greeted rather pleasantly. "Breakfast almost ready?"  
  
"I'm not cooking," she said. "I thought you were."  
  
Dawn furrowed her brow and shook her head. "Maybe Giles or someone stopped by."  
  
"Let's go find out," Buffy suggested, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.   
  
Dawn leaped off her bed and they headed down the stairs together, rounding into the kitchen and stopping in shock at what they saw.   
  
"Hey, guys," said Willow with a small smile. "Pancakes?"  
  
Quickly closing her opened mouth, Buffy nodded, "Yeah!"  
  
"Eager, much?" Dawn hissed in her ear, hopping on a stool before a plate. "Hey, Will?"  
  
"Yeah?" Willow asked, turning around, spatula in hand.   
  
"Can you make me funny shapes?" Dawn asked carefully.  
  
Willow gave her an absolutely vibrant smile. "Sure, Dawnie."  
  
Buffy smiled to herself. "I'll be down in a few, I gotta get ready for work."  
  
Willow and Dawn nodded as she walked up the stairs and into her room to change into her Doublemeat Palace uniform.  
  
"So, Will," Dawn said as the older girl placed a stack of cute if not oddly shaped pancakes on her plate. "What's up?"  
  
Willow placed more, regular pancakes on another plate for Buffy. "You mean, why the sudden turn around?"  
  
"Well, yeah," Dawn said softly. "I mean…you know."  
  
"I get it, Dawn," she said. "And you don't have to tiptoe around me anymore. Tara's gone, nothing can change that. I'm still gonna miss her, but I don't want it to be like we're trying to forget she was ever here."  
  
Dawn nodded. "I could never do that."  
  
"Me either," Willow agreed. "Yesterday…I realized that. I realized a lot of things. Someone made me realize them."  
  
"Who?" Dawn asked, ever the curios teen.  
  
"I…" Willow trailed off. He was supposed to be dead. What if Dawn thought she was going crazy or something? She sighed. "It was Spike."  
  
Dawn's eyes went wide. "You saw him?"  
  
"I-I know he's supposed to be dead-" Willow rushed.  
  
"No!" Dawn interrupted. "I mean, yeah, he's supposed to be, but…well, Buffy and I saw him, too. We didn't tell anyone because he was acting really weird…"  
  
"I noticed that, too," Willow muttered. "He was more…I dunno."  
  
"He has a soul," she spilled out suddenly, then covered her mouth with a hand.  
  
Willow didn't look as shocked as Dawn imagined she would have. "That would make sense…how?"  
  
Dawn slowly removed her hand. "I don't know all the details. All I know is he left for awhile, and when he came back he had one. Then he left again…then he came back again. Now he's acting even weirder."  
  
"Tell me about it," Willow said. "But it was a good kind of weird, I guess."  
  
"Not from what I saw," Dawn argued. "He got all zone-y, and then he ran away screaming when Buffy and I saw him on patrol. Then the other day he was sitting at Mom's grave the other night, and he's all pale and stuff. He looks like a skeleton. It's nasty. I mean, it was hard enough just to get him to eat some blood."  
  
Willow poured some syrup over a pancake, looking thoughtful. "It must be really hard, having the soul. You know, after all he did."  
  
Dawn nodded. "I guess. I can't even imagine that. It must hurt."  
  
"Yeah," Willow agreed with a nod.   
  
"What're we talking about?" Buffy spoke up from the doorway, coming over to sit next to Dawn, and digging into her pancakes.   
  
"Uh…nothing," Willow said.  
  
"Yeah," Dawn said. "Just…what we were gonna do today, while you're working."  
  
"Oh," Buffy said. "How about cleaning your room, Dawn?"  
  
Her sister sighed. "All right."  
  
"I'll help," Willow whispered conspiringly, taking her plate to the sink.  
  
Buffy grinned and smothered her pancakes in butter and syrup.  
  
  
  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike mumbled woozily.   
  
He'd stood up to pull down the ratty curtain covering the window where sunlight had been creeping through for the past few hours, getting closer and closer, but as soon as he was on his feet he lurched, catching himself on the TV, too dizzy to stand straight. Brightly colored spots danced before his eyes.   
  
He rested, sagging against his stolen set for a few minutes, then straightened up again.   
  
He stumbled over to the window and yanked down the curtain.   
  
There, in the dim glow of hidden sunlight, he looked down at himself. His jeans were loose and baggy, and he hiked them up on his hips, scowling. His ribs showed through his skin, and he realized that a lot of his scars were gone. Holding out his hands he saw that his skin was clinging tightly to his knuckles.   
  
"I look like I came from a bleedin' concentration camp," he laughed sardonically.   
  
He was wasting away inside. He knew this. Still, he couldn't bring himself to hold down any blood.   
  
Why did it have to be blood?  
  
  
  
  
Buffy sighed and wiped a greasy hand across her forehead in a vain attempt to keep her hair from escaping the hair tie and hat and getting in her eyes. She slapped the burgers on their uncooked side and another sigh was barely audible beneath the sizzling noise.  
  
"How long to go?" she asked herself, twisting her neck to get a look at the clock. Half an hour. Good.  
  
"Buffy," her co-worker Linda said suddenly. "Can you take the counter? My ex-boyfriend and his new girl are headed this way!"  
  
"Sure," Buffy said, happy to get away from the grills.  
  
She put a fake smile on her face and approached the slightly heavyset woman at the counter.  
  
"Welcome to Double Meat Palace. Can I take your order?" she recited cheerfully.  
  
"Uh, yes, as a matter of fact," the woman said. "I'm looking for Buffy Summers?"  
  
Buffy had to wipe off the worried look. "Uh…that's me. How can I help you?"  
  
"I'm Robin Wood, Principal at Sunnydale High. Uh, well, the newly built Sunnydale High," she said with a smile. "I'd actually like to talk to you about a job opportunity."  
  
"We're not hiring," Buffy said slowly.  
  
"Oh, no, I meant for you," Robin cleared up.  
  
"Oh," Buffy winced. "Duh. Why would you need a job, being the principal and- sorry, a job?"  
  
"Yes," Robin said. "We're looking for a…counselor of sorts. Someone who can relate to the kids on their on levels. A friend of a friend recommended you."  
  
Buffy was surprised. "Someone actually recommended me?"  
  
Robin laughed. "Yes."  
  
"A counselor?" Buffy said in wonder. "Me. I…I'd have to give that some thought."  
  
"Hey, are you gonna order or not?" Linda's ex asked from behind Robin.  
  
"Could we pick this up after my shift?" Buffy asked. "I get off in about twenty minutes."  
  
"Sure," Robin said with a warm smile. "I'll be in the corner booth."  
  
A counselor, Buffy thought. Me.  
  
  
  
  
Spike cringed, gagged, and threw the empty glass across the room. What was left of the blood spattered the wall and ground. He gagged again, but managed to keep it down, holding his hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes from the effort of keeping the liquid down.  
  
Already he felt a little better, but not by much. The dizziness stopped almost completely, and the spots in front of his eyes all but disappeared.  
  
He sucked in a deep breath and sat heavily on his sarcophagus.   
  
Life had gotten so much more complicated.  
  
  
  
  
"I…I'd love to!" Buffy said, and was greeted by Robin's satisfied smile.  
  
"Great!" she said cheerfully.  
  
Buffy had immediately noticed the difference between Robin Wood and Principal Snyder. Robin was nice…and she cared.  
  
"Now, orientation will start tomorrow. I hope you can make that. It's at noon at the school," she explained, writing on a napkin. "I'm really glad you decided to accept."  
  
"Me too," Buffy said, still sort of astounded at the pay increase from her job now to the one she'd be settling in to. It wasn't a great lot of money…but there was a difference.  
  
"Dawn's going to be so happy we don't have to buy the generic toilet paper anymore," she whispered to herself as Robin's form disappeared through the doors.  
  
She went to the back to get changed, a silly grin on her face.  
  
  
  
  
Spike was sitting atop a grave, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette as deeply as he could. He found it amazing that the nicotine still had an effect on him, being dead and all. He flicked the ashes off the end and took another drag, staring at the moon.   
  
A rustle in the bushes to his right caught his attention, but he didn't even turn.  
  
"Buffy," he nodded, knowing without looking who it was.  
  
"You're getting rusty, Spike," she said. "I could've staked you just now."  
  
"Should've," he muttered under his breath. Aloud he asked, "What do you want, Slayer?"  
  
"Ask me what happened today," she commanded jovially, still grinning.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Ask me again why I could never love you!"  
  
The hurt look on her face, the bruise, the look in her eyes above all. Fright, childish fright, and the betrayal.  
  
*FLASH*  
  
"Spike?" she asked, waving a hand in her face.  
  
"Huh? Oh, what'd you say?" he asked, snapping back into reality. Somewhere in the back of his head the scene played out again.  
  
"Ask me what happened after work!" she said again.  
  
The whispering voice floated past his ear like the breath of a ghost.  
  
*"…I could never love you…"*  
  
*"…beneath me…"*   
  
He shot off the tombstone like a light, tense. "I can't be around you."  
  
Her grin faded quickly. "W-what?"  
  
"I can't be near you," he repeated, hands shaking.  
  
"Why not?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and the voices to stop.  
  
*"Ask me again why I could never love you!"*  
  
When he didn't answer she sucked in her breath, pressed her lips together, and walked off in the same direction she'd came: toward home.   
  
As he watched her leave he realized she had made an extra trip to see him, and wondered briefly what she had to say.  
  
Then he answered her.  
  
"I'm beneath you." 


	12. 12

A/N: Well, here's the next part. I've not been getting too many reviews of late, so I hope you guys are still reading and enjoying. To those who are reviewing, thanks a bunch, you're fuel to the creative fire!! :D Lemme know what ya think!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Buffy blew into the house like a hurricane, slamming her duffle and the bag of Doublemeat Palace goodies she'd brought home for dinner on the kitchen counter. She took a deep breath, swallowing her anger, composing herself. "Dawn, dinner!"  
  
Dawn thundered down the stairs, into the kitchen. "Geez, Buffy, where were you? I was waiting for dinner an hour ago!"  
  
Buffy looked at the set table, and cringed. "Sorry. That's what I wanted to talk to you about anyway."  
  
Dawn gave her a curious look, as she sat down to her burger and fries. She lifted up the bun, looking at the meat patty. "Aww, again?"  
  
"We can't really afford anything else until pay day," Buffy apologized. "But, that'll change soon."  
  
Dawn eyed her up. "What d'you mean?"  
  
"I got a new job," Buffy said proudly.  
  
Dawn's face lit up. "Really? Oh, my God, that's great! Where?"  
  
"Sunnydale High," Buffy finished up.  
  
Dawn blanched. "My…high school?"  
  
"Yuh huh," Buffy answered, sipping her diet soda, oblivious to Dawn's petrified look.  
  
"You're not gonna be…serving in the cafeteria, are you?" Dawn asked, not sure she wanted to know.  
  
"Nope," Buffy said, chewing a mouthful of fries.  
  
"Well, what then!?" Dawn cried.  
  
Buffy laughed. "The office, Dawn. I'm going to be a counselor!"  
  
Dawn's eyes went wide. "The OFFICE? Are you trying to end my social life?"  
  
"You don't have a social life, " Buffy cracked.  
  
"Well…are you trying to prevent me from getting one?" Dawn rephrased.  
  
"Hey, look on the bright side," Buffy replied. "Now I can get you out of class every now and then. Say in the midst of a pesky…math test?"  
  
Dawn grinned. "Okay, there's a bright side. But…you're not gonna try to be all mature and stuff, right? Like making me go to bed early?"  
"Nothing's going to change much," Buffy replied. "Just the job…and the income."  
  
"And the smell," Dawn said. "It'll be weird not smelling that Doublemeat Fragrance everywhere I go."  
  
Buffy threw a fry at her. "Hey!"  
  
Dawn grabbed the fry and popped it in her mouth and grinned.  
  
  
  
  
There was an uncomfortable sort of silence hanging thickly in the air of Xander's apartment. Both his and Anya sat stiffly, across the table from each other, staring at a point beyond the other's head.  
  
Xander cleared his throat.  
  
Anya looked at him pointedly. "Did you have something to say?"  
  
"Oh, no," he stumbled. " I was just…all the dust from the school renovations…"  
  
"Oh," she nodded, going back to her point.  
  
Xander berated himself inwardly. 'Time to finally be a man, Harris.'  
  
He took a deep breath. "An…I do have something to say. I've been needing to say I it all along. I love you. I really do…and that scares me. I've never had much to love, and when I have I usually screwed it up. I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you, or making you unhappy. I wasn't ready to deal with that. I wasn't man enough. But now…you made me see, Anya. I love you more than anything I've ever loved before. I can't do this without you. I need you."  
  
She stared at him with glistening eyes. "How can I forgive you, Xander? You walked out on our wedding! You left me standing at the alter!"  
  
"You slept with Spike!" he shouted, then immediately wanted to slap himself. Smart move. "But I forgive you. Because you were trying to comfort yourself."  
  
She bit her lip. Damn emotions.  
  
"An…I can't promise you a life of glamour, and I can't promise we're always going to be perfect…but if you give me another chance, I swear that I will never stop loving you. I will never doubt us again."  
  
"I don't want glamour, and perfection, Xander," Anya sobbed softly. "All I ever wanted was you…"  
  
It was so unlike either of them to act this way, but they didn't care. All they cared was how good and right it felt to be back in each other's arms.  
  
  
  
  
Willow sat in her and Tara's room. Only now, she guessed, it was only hers. There were belongings littered everywhere. Some she recognized immediately as Tara's. The clothes in the closet, the books, everything held a story. A story that told of a love that promised so many great things only to end tragically.   
  
  
Sniffing back tears Willow clutched a favorite dress of Tara's to her face, rubbing the silky material against her cheek, inhaling her scent.  
  
"I miss you, baby," she whispered.  
  
And then she did the final act.   
  
She carefully folded the dress and carefully set it with the others in one of many cardboard boxes.   
  
"It's not good-bye," she told herself. "It's not good-bye."  
  
  
  
  
The cemetery was peaceful, a rare event in Sunnydale. The moon rose high and full above the trees and a cool wind rustled the trees, spinning fallen leaves like a phantom dancer.  
  
Feeling new strength from even the little amount of blood he'd consumed, Spike walked through the somber place of rest, a restless soul.   
  
"Innit ironic?" he spoke softly, smirking.  
  
He sighed as he made his way through the grounds, stopping briefly to light up a cigarette and inhale deeply.  
  
He didn't know where he was going or why, but he soon found himself walking the streets of Sunnydale aimlessly, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other holding his smoke when it wasn't between his lips.  
  
Somewhere during the previous night he'd realized that he wasn't doing a damned thing in the right direction by starving away, and though it was hard to keep the blood down…he knew he had to endure it. Even the little bit he'd downed had renewed enough lost strength for him to have this little constitutional of his. None of this meant that he knew exactly what the right direction WAS, but at least he knew he wasn't still headed in the opposite direction.   
  
Up ahead a fire burned in a barrel, surrounded by three homeless guys, all chatting it up easily, as if nothing in their life had ever gone wrong.  
  
Spike sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately.  
  
He turned into an alley, escaping the orange firelight. Still staring back there, he grunted in surprise as he slammed into a solid body.   
  
"Oof!"   
  
He had no trouble recognizing Buffy, not even in the dark, not even with just a tiny noise.  
  
He lay there, dazed, on the wet and dirty pavement, staring back at her wondering eyes.  
  
"Spike…" she said slowly.   
  
"'S what they call me," he replied, making no move to get up.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing up and brushing her clothes off, retrieving her stake from where it had rolled.  
  
"Was walkin'," he mumbled, looking down.  
  
She arched an eyebrow curiously, then held out a hand, a gesture to help him up.  
  
He looked at the hand, then looked away, not taking it.  
  
"What, you wanna sleep in the alley?" she asked, stretching her hand.  
  
He still ignored the hand, pushing himself up with shaky hands, his cigarette wet and mushy in a puddle nearby.  
  
Buffy retracted her hand, looking slightly hurt.   
  
"I don't sleep," he muttered, fumbling for another cigarette.  
  
"Maybe you need a stuffed animal," she said, hoping to get a laugh, anything.  
  
He smiled a fractured smile. "All I need is death."  
  
Her eyes widened. "What?"  
  
He laughed shortly. "Don't try to seem concerned, Slayer. Lying never did suit you."  
  
He lit up another cigarette and blew out a breath of smoke.  
  
She made a face. "Who says I'm pretending? No matter what you think, I care."  
  
He scoffed.  
  
Again, she looked hurt.  
  
"What're you doing out here, Buffy?" he asked her, grinding the butt of his smoke under his heal. "This is a far cry from your usual territory."  
  
"I was…just walking," she said with a shrug, gripping her stake.  
  
"What a coincidence," he said disinterestedly.   
  
"Spike, what's going on with you?" she pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
  
He wrenched away, backing roughly into the brick wall of the alley. "Don't touch me!!"  
  
She gasped to avoid his flying hands as he shot away.   
  
He slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees, as flashes of the past overtook him.  
  
Buffy stood there in utter shock as he began to sob loudly, his body shaking, and little whimpers and moans of pain coming from his throat.  
  
"Spike?" she asked softly.   
  
He didn't answer.  
  
"Spike!" she said again, louder this time.  
  
He looked up with red, swollen eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.   
  
"Don't touch me," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"I'm not gonna touch you," she said, staring worriedly at him. "Just…tell me what's wrong."  
  
He buried his head back in his arms, crying softly.   
  
She stood there, not knowing what to do.  
  
"Spike, do you want me to leave?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer she knew he had.  
  
He nodded, not looking up at her.  
  
She swallowed hard. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now…"  
  
He sniffed, still crying, and she finally turned, disappearing into the darkness of the alley.  
  
  
  
  
Buffy was, to say the least, weirded out by the incident in the alley. She was hurt, too, but she tried not to let that show. She shut the door, locked it, and hung up her jacket in the closet, taking the time to stare at his old duster hanging there.   
  
With a shake of her head, she shut the door.   
  
"Dawn, are you in bed, yet?" she called up the stairs.  
  
"Yeah!" she called back. "Night, Buff!"  
  
"Night," she replied, heading to the living room.  
  
She had some thinking to do. But first she needed chocolate chip cookie doug hice cream and late night movies.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	13. 13

Hmm…okay, apparently Robin Wood is a GUY. So, forget how Wood was a woman in the rest of the story. Wood is now a guy. :0). Also…uh…I'm thinking of ending this soon, and have no idea how. Any ideas? Enjoy, and review me lots!!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Buffy and Dawn stood side by side outside the newly renovated Sunnydale High building. Despite the difference in dress, Buffy in a knee length skirt and blouse, Dawn in jeans and a tank top, it was hard to tell that Buffy was now an employee. She was till young, and her nervous out of place feeling made her seem more like a student than ever.  
  
"Nervous?" she asked Dawn, smoothing a wrinkle from her skirt.  
  
"Me, nervous? No way," Dawn said coolly. "Well…maybe just a little. You?"  
  
"No…yeah," she fidgeted. "Can you tell?"  
  
"Only a little," Dawn said sheepishly.  
  
"Great," Buffy said taking in a deep breath. "Just great."  
  
"Hey, Dawn!" came the voice of Janice from the top of the stairs leading into the school.  
  
"Sorry, Buff," Dawn apologized. "This is where we go our separate ways. Y'know, threat to my reputation and all."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes with a smile and nodded. "See you round then."  
  
"Yep!" Dawn called back, trotting up the stairs to her friend.  
  
Buffy took in another deep breath as they disappeared and prepared herself. Then, with a confident stride, she walked through the doors.  
  
  
  
  
In such a rush to get to her third period class that she was forced to run, Dawn flew down the maze of hallways, hair flying out behind her, headed for a class she had no idea where to find.   
  
Glancing at her schedule, then back up, she skidded to a halt in front of room 366, and opened the door.   
  
Breathing heavily she said to the teacher, "Sorry I'm late. It's my first time in here, I got lost."  
  
The woman sighed. "It's all right. Dawn Summers?"  
  
Dawn nodded. "That's me."  
  
The woman, Mrs. Blackburn, sighed. "I told them we should have had an orientation day. You're the tenth person who's gotten lost today. I'd tell you to have a seat, but as you can see, they're all taken."  
  
She followed the teacher's arm around the room, seeing no open seats.  
  
"I'll write you a pass," Blackburn said. "and send you to the supply room in the basement. There's a janitor on duty, but you never know where he is, so if you don't find him down there, just see if you can manage to bring it up yourself, okay?"  
  
Dawn nodded, taking the pass and the key to the supply room. "Uhh…where is it?"  
  
"Down the hall way, last door on the left. It says basement on it," the teacher replied.  
  
Dawn nodded feeling stupid. "Oh."  
  
She walked, following the directions, and easily found the door marked 'basement'. Opening it, she walked down the dimly lit stairwell, looking around in disgust. "For a new building, this place sure is nasty looking."  
  
She reached the bottom and looked around for anything marked 'supply room' or 'supplies'.   
  
"Of course they wouldn't make it that easy," she grumbled, looking around the dark, place.   
  
Seeing another set of stairs leading to a darker, dank sort of hallway, she followed those. "Maybe down here.."  
  
She pushed open the first door she found, not seeing any sort of sign, and entered. A bunch of machinery, all of an alien nature to Dawn was crowded in the room. "Something tells me I won't be finding a desk in here."  
  
She turned back through the door, and stopped dead in her tracks as there was a clanging noise to her left. She looked into the dimness, trying to figure out where exactly the sound had originated from, and what had made it.  
  
Tentatively, hoping there was no one or nothing to answer her, she called, "Hello? Anyone there?"  
  
Another clang, softer this time, and a thud, was the reply she received.  
  
She gulped and moved a few steps forward. "Uh…hello?"  
  
A whimper met her ears, followed by a scrabbling noise.  
  
"Please be a cuddly doggie," Dawn whispered, crossing her fingers and shutting her eyes.   
  
She slowly walked forward, peering behind the pipes to her right. "Anyone there? Any one being a nice fluffy puppy?"  
  
Another clang, close enough to make Dawn jump.  
  
Biting her lip she forced herself to look into the space between a huge, slightly rusty pipe and the concrete wall, whispering a plea for it to be nothing, and if it was something…that amount of training would be enough to help her take it on.  
  
She opened her eyes wide, as if not believing what she saw.  
  
"Spike?" she asked incredulously.  
  
The vampire's head was tucked into his arms which rested on his knees, so only his tousled brown hair was showing, but she recognized him nevertheless. His knuckles, wrapped around his legs, clutching tight to his elbows, were bruised and bloodied. He was shaking and small noises escaped him from time to time.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn asked again, getting to her knees and slowly inching forward until she was scrunched beneath the pipe and the wall as well.  
  
She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up, startled.  
  
"Sorry," Dawn apologized. "I- I thought you heard me."  
  
He stared at her with slightly unfocused blue eyes, as if trying to recognize an unfamiliar face.  
  
"Spike?" she asked, kind of worried. He looked…less than normal.  
  
"…no…" he whispered.   
  
"No?" she asked, brow furrowed. "No what?"  
  
"Don't touch!" he cried, pulling away, rocking back and forth.  
  
She pulled away quickly. "Sorry…what's wrong with you?"  
  
"Everything," he whispered, more coherently.  
  
"What d'you mean?" Dawn asked, trying to get a clear answer.  
  
He began to hum softly, covering his ears with his hands, still rocking back and forth.   
  
"Spike," she said, trying to pry his hands from his ears. "Spike, what the hell?"  
  
He pulled back, eyes squeezed shut.   
  
"Spike!" she cried.   
  
Giggles began to escape his mouth, echoing against the basement walls. He was soon laughing hysterically, and gradually the laughing gave way into sobbing.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn asked again, getting scared.  
  
"It won't leave," he sniffed, looking up at her. "I told not to, but it won't go away."  
  
"What won't?" Dawn asked softly.  
  
He muffled sobs. "Her."  
  
"Her?" Dawn said in confusion. "Her who?"  
  
"The girl," he mumbled. "The girl won't leave me be."   
  
"What girl?" she said, looking around. "There's no one else here."  
  
"She's not there," he repeated. He touched a hand to his chest, then to his head. "She's in here."  
  
Dawn's lip trembled. "Spike, you're really freakin' me out here."  
  
"She won't get out of my head," he said shakily. "She won't leave me alone. I can't make her go…I can't kill her."  
  
"Okay, uh…stay here, okay?" she told him. "I'm gonna go get Buffy."  
  
He looked up at the name, but his eyes made it impossible to tell if he even recognized it.  
  
She flew up the stairs, leaving him to himself.  
  
A whimper escaped him, and he leaned back against the cool brick wall, arms wrapped about himself.  
  
"Spike…" a voice whispered.  
  
He looked up, and shook his head. "No. You not real. Get away from me."  
  
He shut his eyes and systematically began beating the back of his head against the wall behind him.   
  
"Dead…dead…dead….DEAD."  
  
  
  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
Buffy looked up from her desk in the back room of the principal's office. "Dawn? What's up, why aren't you in class?"  
  
Seeing MR. Wood looking at her, she said quickly. "I…uh, I forgot my allergy medication."  
  
Buffy gave her a weird look, but played along. "Honestly, Dawn, you're lucky I keep extra in my purse."  
  
She followed her sister into her office, shutting the door.  
  
"It's Spike!" she said urgently.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy hesitated.  
  
"Buffy, he's really freaking me out, I think there's something REALLY wrong with him!" Dawn rushed out.  
  
"Calm down, calm down," Buffy said. "Where is he?"  
  
"Somewhere in the basement. I had to go get a desk, and I found him, and…" she trailed off. "Something's wrong."  
  
"Okay," Buffy nodded. "Show me where."  
  
"Mr. Wood," Buffy said as they left. "I'm going to escort Dawn back to class and get her an extra desk from the basement, all right?"  
  
He nodded, and off they went.  
  
Outside the office, Buffy turned to Dawn.   
  
"Okay, get back to class and tell your teacher I'm bringing a desk up," she instructed.  
  
"No way! I'm coming with you!" her sister protested.  
  
"Nuh uh," Buffy replied. "We can't ruin your record on the first day. Go! I'll tell you what's the up at lunch, okay?"  
  
Reluctantly the younger Summers agreed and trudged back to class.  
  
Buffy slowly made her way to the basement, using her keen hearing to listen for sounds that could clue her in to Spike's location. She immediately heard whimpering and headed for it.  
  
Spike was still rocking, bashing his head against the wall, and when she was this she rushed to his side, grabbing his head to stop him from doing any more damage.  
  
He pulled back and scooted away from her with wide eyes.  
  
"Spike?" she asked. "Dawn got me. What's wrong?"  
  
He stared at her.  
  
"Spike, talk to me," she demanded softly. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"You always leave but your never gone," he muttered, unconsciously digging his nails into his lower arm as he avoided her gaze.  
  
"What?"   
  
"You always go away," he said, looking at her with his intense gaze. "but I can't make you leave. I tried and I tried, but you're stuck with me."  
  
She frowned. "Gee, I'm gald I could help."  
  
"You!" he snapped. "You haunt me. I've apologized a million times and all you do is stay with me, and taunt me, and torture me."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked.  
  
"Why won't you leave?" he asked sadly.  
  
"Because I want to find out what's wrong with you!" she said, exasperated.  
  
"I'm still alive," was his answer.  
  
"Don't talk like that," she told him in a small voice.  
  
He glared at her. "You can't tell me what to do anymore! You can't make me do what you want anymore!"  
  
She backed up as her got to his feet, anger blazing in his eyes.  
  
"I'm tired of you haunting me!" he shouted. "I've tried, and I can't seem to make it die!"  
  
"What die?" she asked, shaking her head.   
  
He advanced.  
  
What is this? Buffy thought.  
  
"You."  
  
She furrowed her brow, disbelief on her face. "Me?"  
  
His features softened. "I didn't mean to. I swear…but I had to. You didn't see."  
  
He sunk to his knees crying. "Why won't you die?"  
  
She stood there. Something was really wrong with him. 


	14. 14

A/N: The big finale! And I do mean big. Twice the size of a regular chapter. This story is done. I think. Eep! :P The spell towards the end is a roughly…and I mean roughly…translated Romanian deal. Made it up, nothing real. Some spoilers may be in here, I forget. Hehe. Enjoy, and let me know how you liked the ending. Or, hey, if it sucked, let me know! Muah!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun was up, and shining brightly, the sky a sea of blue dotted here and there with fluffy white clouds. There was a gentle breeze blowing just hard enough to cool off the heat of the blazing sun. Another beautiful day in Sunnydale.   
  
Inside the Magic shop, blissfully hidden from the sun, Spike sat in the back room, waiting. He absently twirled a dagger between his fingers, now and then flicking it into the air and lightly catching it by the blade.   
  
"Impressive," a voice said from the doorway.  
  
He turned to see Giles and set the dagger down. "Just the man I was looking for."  
  
"And why's that?" Giles asked, setting a carton of books down.  
  
Spike looked down at his boots. "I uh…I need some help."  
  
When he looked up Giles motioned for him to join him and take a seat on the couch.  
  
"Wouldn't this be the time you usually tell me to get lost?" Spike asked nervously.  
  
"That was when I thought of you as a cold-blooded killer," Giles explained.  
  
Spike gave him an odd look. "You don't anymore?"  
  
"Not with the soul," he answered. To Spike's shocked look, he said, "Buffy. She told me."  
  
Spike nodded. "Yeah…"  
  
"Now, advice? From me?" Giles began.  
  
"You're the only I could think of who might be able help me," he said sadly. "Cause, frankly, if I don't get help, I think I'm gonna go insane."   
  
Giles laughed, but stopped when he realized Spike was serious. He cleared his throat. "Go on."  
  
Spike sighed. "Look, Rupert, I know I'm a still vampire, and I know Buffy could never love me, but I love her. I've tried everything. Killing her, killing myself, leaving town…nothing makes it go away. On top of that, this bleedin' soul…the pain…I don't think I can do it much longer."  
  
Giles nodded seriously. "Understandable."  
  
"I've thought of doin' the deed, you know?" Spike continued, putting the heel of his hand on his temple. "Stake, sunlight, downin' a pitcher of Holy water. Something effective, painful. I don't know why I can't do it. God knows how I want to."  
  
Giles frowned, but allowed him to continue.  
  
"I still can't figure why I can't bring myself to do it. I've got the reason, I've got the resources. Hell, I've even got a section cheering me on. I think maybe I just need to know that when I'm gone Buffy and the Bit are gonna be taken care of. If it means pullin' in Angel, running away, do it. Anything, just make sure…" he trailed off in thought.  
  
"Spike, I do wish you would consider other options," Giles said, systematically cleaning his glasses.  
  
"From where I'm sittin' there are none," Spike said stonily. "I can't be with the one I love, and I'm slowly going insane because I'm living with almost two hundred years of violence on top of that."   
  
"I do know a spell," Giles stated. "A ritual. It could make you…human."  
  
Spike looked up at this. "Human?"  
  
"Yes," Giles nodded. "It would require someone with a great amount of power…"  
  
Spike knew what he was thinking. "Couldn't ask Red to do that. Besides. Human I'd be no good. Just another body to worry about for the Slayer. You know how she has to look out for the rest of you. I'm not sure either of us could take that."  
  
Giles nodded. "I'll look for other ways. Put this off until I can find something, Spike. If I can't find another way…"  
  
Spike sighed. "I'm not getting my hopes up. Just don't tell anyone. And Giles…I do appreciate this. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?" the Englishman asked.  
  
"Before. The things I did to you. The things I watched be done."  
  
Giles nodded and watched as Spike slipped out of the room, to the basement.   
  
He stood up. He had work to do.  
  
  
  
Spike knelt by the altar, warily, the presence of the crosses, statues, and churchgoers full of faith pressing heavily against the demon inside him. He felt slightly drained, ill at ease.   
  
He light a candle and sat back to watch it burn, feeling out of place. He laughed a low laugh in his throat. "A vampire with a soul come to confess his sins and pray for atonement to a God that very well may not exist. What a sight to see. If they could see me now."  
  
From a bag he had sitting a considerable distance away from his legs he pulled out a small bundle, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a shining silver cross.   
  
He took in a deep breath and stifled a laugh that threatened to break loose. With shaking hands he picked up the cross.  
  
Instantaneously there was a smell of burnt meat and smoke began to rise from his hands. He tightened his hold, gripping to cross to his chest, facial muscles clenched in an effort to hold down a scream of pain.   
  
He closed his eyes, opened them, and looked up at the crucifix hanging above him.  
  
In a controlled, pain filled voice, he began. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"  
  
  
  
  
"Buffy, did you talk to Spike today?" Dawn asked, flying in the front door.   
  
Buffy looked up from her coffee. The clock read three. She winced. "Sorry. I didn't see the time or I would've had something ready."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy, I'm not six. Did you see him today?"  
  
"No," Buffy sighed. "I left him there yesterday, but when I went back today there was no one there. I looked all over. No one's seen him."  
  
Dawn sighed and sat heavily in one of the chairs. "Oh."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dawnie," Buffy said softly. "I should've stayed with him. He was looking bad yesterday."  
  
"He's looked bad since he came back," Dawn replied.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy acknowledged. "But he wasn't going all Mental Ward before!"  
  
"It scared me," Dawn said in a small voice. "I've never seen him like that before."  
  
Her older sister nodded. "Neither have I. It was freaky."  
  
"Can we at least go look for him tonight?" Dawn asked. "It's a Friday, and I don't have much homework, and…I really don't think he should be out there alone."  
  
"You're right," Buffy said.  
  
"Oh, come ON, Buffy--" Dawn caught herself. "What? We can?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "Yeah."  
  
Dawn squealed. "You're the greatest!"  
  
Buffy smiled, but it was a sad smile. She hoped there was still someone left to find.  
  
  
  
  
It was a quiet night. Something seemed wrong about that, being a Hellmouth and all, but at the same time it seemed fitting.  
  
They stalked side by side, stopping now and then to take care of a vamp, but all in all the night was uneventful.  
  
"Great," Dawn said, twirling her stake. "No Spike, no killing things. I gave up a Friday night for this?"  
  
Buffy laughed. "Welcome to the life of a Slayer."  
  
She expected Dawn to laugh too, or at least make a smart comment like usual, but when she stopped to look at her little sister she saw her staring somewhere in front of them.  
  
"Dawn, what…?" she trailed off as she saw what she was looking at.  
  
Spike was kneeling in front of Tara's grave stone, gently touching one of the flower's Willow had lain there earlier on.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn whispered.  
  
"Hello, luv," Spike said emotionlessly, not bothering to look up from the grave.   
  
He was almost motionless, just staring with empty eyes, tracing the soft petal of the flower.  
  
"Spike, what're you doing?" Buffy asked, getting Dawn by her side and slowly moving closer.  
  
"Havin' a chat with an old friend," he said listlessly. "Glinda here's been tellin' me all about Heaven. Says it shines like the stars, she does."  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn whispered. He was scaring her.  
  
"Spike…Tara's gone," Buffy said slowly.  
  
"Gone to Heaven," he nodded. "Up there with yer Mum, she is. They talk sometimes. Make sure they know you're doin' alright."  
  
"Mommy?" the girls whispered in barely audible voices.  
  
Mad now, Buffy spoke louder. "Spike, don't do this. You can't talk about my Mom like that."  
  
"Sends her love," he whispered. "Says you're doin' a good job with Dawn. She always wanted to see you with your own daughter…but this is almost as good."  
  
A tear trickled unwillingly from her eye. "Damn it, Spike! How could you know that?"  
  
"I told you," he said angrily, standing up, swaying. "Her n' Tinkerbell been having a nice conversation with me."  
  
He laughed shortly, an insane laugh.  
  
"I'm almost with them. Almost dead. Last talk with them, though. Sure won't be goin' to Heaven myself," he said sadly. "Not with a demon in me. Don't know what's gonna happen to me."  
  
Dawn looked at her sister. "What's he talking about?"  
  
"I don't know, Dawnie," Buffy said, never once taking her eyes off the vampire.  
  
He cleared his throat, looking serious, and sane. "Right then. Got a man to see. Cheers."  
  
He walked off, leaving the stunned women behind to contemplate the meaning of his words.   
  
  
  
  
"Anything?" Spike asked Giles, already knowing what the answer would be.  
  
"Uh, well, no, not yet," Giles said. "But I do have a lead on another sort of ritual."  
  
Spike looked up at this. "What does it involve?"  
  
Giles looked down.  
  
"Right. Got ya. Just tryin' to stall," he said with a satisfied nod. "Don't know why you should want me alive, Rupert."  
  
"Nor do I," Giles said truthfully.   
  
"Well then, give my regards to the others," Spike said, standing up. "It's time to get this over with before I put it off any longer."  
  
"Spike, I do wish you'd reconsider," Giles said, grabbing Spike's shoulder as he began his walk out the door of the Magic Box.   
  
"The sky's falling," he whispered softly, looking up at the stars.  
  
Giles frowned again. "Yes…I suppose it is."  
  
Spike gave him a small smile. "Thank you for helping."  
  
Giles nodded. "It was no trouble. But still…there may be other ways."  
  
"There are lots of ways to kill a vampire," Spike said in confusion.   
  
Giles opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. There was no reasoning with someone who couldn't even understand the concept of reason.   
  
With no further words, Spike walked away, disappearing down the road with a purpose in his stride.  
  
  
  
  
Buffy buried her head in her hands, ignoring the salad before her and groaning.  
  
"Buffy, what's wrong?" Willow asked, looking up from her own chicken salad.   
  
"Will, have you ever made a really big mistake?" Buffy asked softly, looking up with watery eyes.  
  
Willow gave her a look. "About a hundred."  
  
"Right. Sorry," Buffy apologized.  
  
Willow shook her head. "No, go on. What mistake did you make?"  
  
"I told Spike I could never love him," Buffy said, tears spilling over. "But it wasn't the truth. I already do love him. I have."  
  
Willow's eyes went wide. "How long have you known?"  
  
"I think it was one of those, 'don't know what you've got till it's gone' deals," she sniffed. "You know?"  
  
Willow nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"I mean, look at it. The person there when my Mom found out I was a Slayer? Spike. The person there to comfort me when my mom was sick, and I didn't tell anyone. Spike. The person who saved me every night after I died…The first to know I was in Heaven."  
  
Willow looked away at this.  
  
"Don't worry, Wills. Everything's cool. I'm just starting to think that I really have loved him all this time. And now he's just so messed," Buffy said, a pained look marring her face. "Messed because of me."  
  
"God, Buffy, no," Willow said. "Not because of you."  
  
Buffy sighed. "Mainly."  
  
Willow bit her lip. "I'm sorry Buff."  
  
Her friend nodded. "Me, too. But I don't have to worry much longer. The next time I see him I'm going to tell him the truth. I…love him."  
  
  
  
"Willow?" Giles asked, holding the phone to his ear while paging through a book. "I need your help. I need to know exactly how to do a spell."  
  
He listened to the other end, obviously her protest. "No, Willow, you misunderstand. It's of the utmost importance. I need to know how to perform this ritual. I'm not asking you to partake in it."  
  
He listened again. "Mm hmm. Right. See you in twenty minutes."  
  
"I hope it's not too late," he added as he hung up.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike sat atop the hill, picking blades of grass with his green tinged fingers, twirling them between the digits, then letting them blow away in the wind.   
  
He was counting down the hours before sunrise.  
  
  
  
  
"Giles, he's what?" Willow asked incredulously, holding the book he'd handed her.  
  
"Willow, I know you heard me," Giles said, occupied with drawing the chalk pentagram on the concrete floor of the training room, mats moved aside.  
  
"But…why?" she asked unsurely.  
  
Giles paused, looked up from what he was doing. "Imagine the grief and guilt you felt when you returned from your…magic trip."  
  
Her face blanched.  
  
"Now multiply that by over a hundred years, and add the extra helping of guilt of hurting the one woman you are can't make yourself not be in love with," Giles said, adjusting his glasses.  
  
Willow bit her cheek and nodded.   
  
Giles went back to drawing the large pentacle.  
  
"Giles?" Willow said softly.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, looking back at her.  
  
"Let me do this spell," she said.  
  
"Willow?" he questioned. "I don't think that's wise."  
  
"I have power, Giles. I'm quite possibly the only one who does have enough to make the spell work right. I used my powers wrong before. I used them too much and for the wrong reasons. But this, Giles. This is for good. This will help. Not only him…me too," Willow pleaded. "Let me do this, Giles. I can start making things right again."  
  
Giles recognized her 'resolve face'. He sighed. "Very well."  
  
Willow smiled nervously. "Good. I think."  
  
  
  
Spike looked at the sky, sniffed the air twice. He chuckled dryly.  
  
"Two to go," he muttered.   
  
  
  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn cried as her sister opened the door and stepped back inside after an additional patrol.  
  
"Dawn," Buffy scolded immediately. "You should be asleep, it's nearly five!"  
  
"I know, I know," she rushed. "Trust me, it's for a good reason. Giles called, he said Spike's all suicidal and he thinks he's gonna do something stupid. We gotta find him!"   
  
"What?" Buffy cried. "Where is he?"  
  
"I have no idea," Dawn lamented. "Buffy, please. We can't let him die."  
  
"I know, Dawnie, I know," Buffy agreed, pulling her sister into a hug. "Get your jacket. We're going searching."  
  
"Right," Dawn said.  
  
  
  
  
"I wish it could always be this quiet," Anya said, snuggling up against Xander's chest. "It feels so good just to be near you again.."  
  
Xander smiled, playing with her hair. "I know. I know exactly how you feel."  
  
She turned to him, returning the smile.   
  
They lost themselves as their lips met, the past forgotten, paving way for a perfect future…well, almost perfect. It was Sunnydale, after all.  
  
They would take what they could get.  
  
  
  
  
"Hurry up, Giles," Willow worried. "I don't think we have much more time."  
  
Giles nodded, burning the edge of a stick in a small cauldron of fire. "I know, Willow."  
  
  
  
  
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," Spike sang softly to himself. He remembered when Dru used to sing that song to the little girls before she killed them. She'd always loved that song. "You make me happy when skies are grey."   
  
"Spike!" Buffy's voice called from behind him.  
  
He sighed. "Here she is, come to save the day."  
  
"Spike, I know what you're trying to do. You can't just do this to us, not again!" she cried.  
  
"Us?" he asked, turning his head. "Ah, bring the Bit along for a bit of fun?"  
  
"Spike, don't do this," Dawn pleaded.  
  
"Should be in bed," he said sullenly. "Dreaming dreams all safe n' warm. Or maybe it's better you're not. No more screaming to hear in the dreams, eh?"  
  
Buffy looked at her sister to find the younger girl looking down at her sneakers.   
  
"Not much longer, Slayer," he said. "Dunno if you two wanna be 'round for this."  
  
"There's no 'this', Spike," Buffy said. "You're coming with us before you turn into extra crispy vamp."  
  
"Not goin' anywhere," he said, staring at the pink tinged sky. "Nowhere but hell…or wherever it is a thing like me's damned to."  
  
"Spike, come on," Dawn said, roughly grabbing him by the arm to haul him to his feet. "This is no time to fuck around. If you die I'll kick your ass!"  
  
He glared at her. "What'd I tell you 'bout language?"  
  
"Shut up!" she snapped. "Why should I listen to you? Huh? Remember last summer? What you told me? 'Don't even think that, Bit. Suicide's not the way out of this. It only gets better with time'!"  
  
Buffy gaped. "You thought about killing yourself?"  
  
Dawn glared. "Yeah, all right? Until Spike put me straight. And there's no way I'm gonna let you do this!"  
  
He jerked his arm away sadly. "It's different, Bit."  
  
"NO!" she screamed. "No, it's not!"  
  
He reached up to wipe away a tear that fell, and she batted his hand away. "If you die, I'm never gonna forgive you. I will NEVER forgive you."  
  
"Then I'm sorry you'll never forgive me," he said plainly.  
  
"No," Buffy stepped in. "It's not going down like this."  
  
No miracle snowfall to save this vampire.  
  
"I won't do this again," she whispered.  
  
Spike glanced at the sun, the edges now orange with the onset of the sun.   
  
"Ten," he said with a strange smile.   
  
  
  
  
Dressed in a white gown, Willow stood in the middle of the chalk pentagram, arms held out to her sides, a coal pentagram smeared on her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut, mumbled a small power incantation, and opened her eyes, the irises totally black with power.   
  
"Earth, air, fire, water  
Spirits, hear my plea!  
As above, so below  
Give your strength to me!  
  
Flesh to bone  
Bone to blood  
Blood to being  
Spirits, hear me!"  
  
  
She felt a shudder of magic course through her body, and channeled it. It was working.  
  
"Ce o data acum pauza. Inima si sînge si suflare. Soul, si puternic si corp. Pauza As my will, so mote it be!" Willow cried, the Romanian words slipping easily from her tongue.  
  
A bright flash of light filled the room and slowly died, leaving the witch in the middle of the room, exhausted.   
  
  
  
"Spike, we have to go, NOW!" Buffy cried, tugging on his arm as the sunlight fell across them. "I won't let this happen. I love you!"  
  
He fell to his knees, gasping in pain, but to their immense surprise, did not burst into flames.   
  
"Spike?" Dawn whispered, knlleing by Buffy, who still had a grip on his arm.  
  
He looked up in fear and confusion, gasping deeply, his unused heart beating stolen blood through his veins.  
  
"What's going on?" Buffy asked, noticing just how pale he was in the sunlight.  
  
He looked up at her, seeing the way the sunlight played off her blonde hair. "You're an angel."  
  
She furrowed her brow. "Not quite…"  
  
"Why are you not dead?" Dawn asked. "Not that I'm not all glad and stuff."  
  
Spike painfully reached up and grabbed her hand, placing it to his chest.  
  
"Oh, God," Dawn cried, eyes wide in shock. "You're alive!?"  
  
  
  
"Willow?" Giles asked, concerned, kneeling by her.  
  
"It worked," she grinned. "It worked."  
  
Giles smiled in relief. "Thank God. Wait…did I actually just say that about Spike?"  
  
Willow grinned. "Admit it. He's grown on you."  
  
Giles sighed.  
  
  
  
  
"Alive?" Buffy asked in a childish voice.   
  
"You love me?" he asked at the same time. "I must be dreaming."  
  
Buffy sobbed, pulling him into a hug. "Don't ever do that again! You had me so scared."  
  
Spike smiled a half smile. "You love me."  
  
She wiped away a tear. "Yes, you idiot. I love you. I have loved you."  
  
"Me too," Dawn whispered. "Only not like that."  
  
Spike laughed and held tightly to the two girls he loved more than anything, the sunlight heating them as they lay on the grass.  
  
He was thinking much more clearly now, almost as if he'd never feared for his sanity. All he knew was that for once in his unlife he felt warm and safe and loved in the light.   
  
The shadows had been driven back.  
  
"I'll be fine," he whispered to the sky. "Tell Red thanks."  
  
"Thanks for my life," he thought as he kissed Buffy and Dawn's heads in turn.   
  
  
  
  
"You're welcome," Willow whispered herself. "And thank you."  
  
  
  
  
"I knew you could do it," Tara said to herself, watching from someplace up above.   
  
With everything safe and sound for now, she slowly disappeared, finally at rest.  
  
Everything had worked out.  
  
All it took was time. 


End file.
